


Our lives are not a linear path

by Puppet_in_the_Corner



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Raleigh is now a member of the Hot Dads club, This has become horribly sappy, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puppet_in_the_Corner/pseuds/Puppet_in_the_Corner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At 25 years old, Yancy Becket dies reaching out, leaving behind a younger brother with his soul torn in half, and an unborn child who will never know his father. </p><p>At 22 years old, Raleigh Becket finds himself newly discharged with a busted arm, a neat little description of PTSD and various other disorders he's probably been diagnosed with on his file, and a two month old baby. He's also well and truly at the end of his rope, his life dented by the impressions of those no longer there.</p><p>Or</p><p>How Raleigh Becket desperately tries to keep his head above water in a roiling sea of sorrow and depression threatening to drown him, and the only thing keeping him afloat is the little boy with Yancy's face who calls him "daddy".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sometimes the road doubles back on us

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt this was written for is [here](http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/1613.html?thread=2182221#t2182221)!; updates will be faster on LJ but the updates here on Ao3 will be longer and better edited(!!!). I probably shouldn't be writing this while also juggling that other dumb story I'm writing, BUT I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF, THIS PROMPT SPOKE TO ME.
> 
> I should have a tag just for Raleigh and his angst. I should also probably stop ruining his life. 
> 
> Probably the hardest part of writing this was just choosing a damn name for the kid; in the end, I let OP choose out of the three I'd narrowed it down to. Enjoy!
> 
> Super Edit: NEVER MIND LOOKS LIKE THE HARDEST PART WAS ME NOT FUCKING UP THE TIME LINE, _holy crap I apparently can't do basic math_

 

_February 27, 2020_

 

 

“She doesn't want to stop piloting after the baby's born.” Yancy starts, one night, laying on the top bunk and staring at the cold, metal ceiling. “Knowing her, she'll be back in Chrome Brutus before the kid's even had his first diaper change.” Raleigh's mouth quirks as he bites at the inside of his cheek. He doesn't think he's met a tougher woman than the lady Yancy found himself tangled with, and he thanks his lucky stars that he's not really into them, because holy crap, Denise Jacobs is _terrifying_. She's only one month along so far, and Raleigh has to stop himself from making an ill-timed  _Have fun at the New Years Party_? joke.

 

“What are you gonna do?” Raleigh instinctively _knows_ what Yancy's gonna do, but he's thinking more on what _they're_ gonna do. They're no longer just brothers; once they step into Gipsy, they become one unit, one solitary figure in a roiling sea, arms raised and ready to fight. What Yancy does, where he goes, Raleigh will follow.

 

“Me? Hell, kid, I just found out three days ago. I don't even know what I'm going to have for breakfast tomorrow, but in 8 months?” Yance goes quiet above him, contemplating; he's counting all the screws and bolts that are holding the ceiling together, something he's always done in an attempt to clear his mind.

 

He has a feeling once the Marshall finds out, he's not going to be terribly happy that one of Brutus's pilots is going to be out of commission for nearly the next year; they can't chance letting Denise drift, not while pregnant. Gipsy and Brawler are going to have to pick up the slack unless they can wrangle up another co-pilot during Denise's leave, but he thinks it's doable.

 

“I guess I'll... be a dad.” He breathes out, as if it's suddenly really hitting him. Realistically, they both know what a bad idea this is. They're _Jaeger pilots,_ not guys with stable jobs and a mortgage, and Denise doesn't exactly have the same stability either, nor is she really the _mothering_ type. She's already made it very clear to them that she's going to be incredibly _hands off,_ which Raleigh takes as _This kid is gonna be your problem_ once she pops it out. Regardless, there must be something stilling her hand if she's decided she's going to go through with the pregnancy rather than terminating it.

 

Still, there are pilots, techs, engineers, all with children. Between the two of them, they can probably raise a kid and make sure he or she reaches adulthood without too much mental trauma. Maybe.

 

Raleigh knows, however, that Yancy would be a great dad. He'd all but raised Raleigh and Jaz when they'd been growing up, parents long gone, and he thinks the three of them turned out... okay. Not great, but Yancy had done his best, and now Jaz was attending some fancy pants college on the east coast while being a decently well adjusted human being, and the two of them were... piloting giant robots and sharing a brain space. Close enough.

 

“And I'll be the much better looking uncle who takes them off your hands for a few hours but sends them back to you on a sugar high.” Yancy leans over the edge of his bunk to throw a pillow at him, but they're both laughing anyway. They're also probably making far too light of it, but right now, what else do they have to look towards?

 

There's a moment, Raleigh thinks while grinning madly, as he snatches up Yancy's pillow and refuses to give it back, where he wonders whether it will look more like Denise, or Yancy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Yancy Becket dies, his last thoughts are a swirl of broken moments, of Raleigh, of Jazmine, of the baby who he's not going to meet, and raise, and watch grow. He dies reaching out, and Raleigh is left, he's left  _alone,_ alone in a space meant for two, a part of himself ripped away, leaving a Yancy shaped hole in his soul.

 

A final, random thought – in between his fear, his helplessness, the absolute _worry_ and _desperation_ he's feeling for his brother – a question that he's not even sure which of them had asked from a previous day that seems so far away now, that flutters through the drift before he's torn away is-

 

 

 

_do you think it'll be a girl, or a boy?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yancy's son is born at a small hospital south of the Anchorage Shatterdome near the tail end of October, squalling as if the world has personally affronted all 7 lbs, 1 oz of him. One of the nurses has to help Raleigh hold him, his left arm still shot to hell as he gently, so gently, carries in the newborn in his right, focusing all of his attention on him.

 

 _He looks so much like his father!_ One of the nurses coos at the infant, _Yancy's son,_ while looking at him appreciatively, and Raleigh doesn't have the heart to correct her. Personally, he's never been around babies much, and he doesn't quite understand how anyone can pick features from each parent out of a newborn. Most of the time, he just sees a baby.

 

He can't help but think he's so full of shit, though, looking down at a finally calm, if not scrunched up and pink tinged face. The baby is so _Yancy_ that it's painful, and Raleigh has a hard time keeping his breath steady as he gazes down at him. How did he ever think he'd reach this point in his life?

 

He'd helped Denise out as much as he could have during the previous four months, but considering he'd been in a coma before that for _another_ four months and still had some physical therapy to go, he doesn't know how much it could have helped. He's read as many baby books as he can, put together a crib with one arm in a sling, and been laughed at by some techs who took pity on him and showed him how to properly put a diaper on a watermelon ( _“It'll be much harder when they're squirming around and have legs, I promise you.”);_ whether or not Denise is going to be there, he's going to do his best to take care of this kid.

 

Yancy's kid.

 

She still won't look at the baby, hair sweat soaked and plastered to her forehead. Raleigh wants to yell at her, scream at her, _look, look at your son, dammit!,_ but then he remembers that he's not the only one who lost someone that day. Him and Denise, they'd never been close, but there had always been a faint camaraderie there, born out of being pilots and fighting side by side to keep the coast safe. Even her and Yancy, while they hadn't exactly had a whirlwind romance (one could barely call them a couple, at times), there had still be something _there,_ between them; two people caught in opposites ends of a storm, reaching out to one another to stay steady.

 

“Harley.” She intones, without much inflection. Raleigh turns his head away from the baby for the first time since he's sat down with him, a question brimming upon his chapped lips.

 

“His name. It'll be Harley.” She looks at him finally, her eyes listless and far away. “I can't... I can't give him anything else, Raleigh.” Her eyes take on a glassy look, now, and Raleigh supposes he finally understands, and he can't hold on to his animosity towards her anymore.

 

He's been fighting nightmares through the fraction of sleep he does get and insomnia when he doesn't, trying to keep calm through the odd panic attack here and there, and going to physical therapy, not because he wants to (because it would have been so easy to just _give up)_ , but because of this moment, when he looks down at the baby, at _Harley_ , and thinks, _he needs me._

 

Harley needs him like him and Jaz had needed Yancy when they were children. What else can he do?

 

Days later, papers are signed, lines drawn, and Raleigh eventually leaves the hospital with his nephew in tow – his son, _son,_ a voice whispers to him in the back of his mind, because that's what he is now, a _father_ – gently tucked into a baby carrier.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Raleigh Becket is 22 years old, newly discharged with a busted arm, a neat little description of PTSD and various other disorders he's probably been diagnosed with on his file, a two month old baby, and truly and utterly at the end of his rope.

 

“Jaz, he _won't stop crying_.” If Harley won't stop, Raleigh's certain _he's_ going to start crying. He's standing in the cramped living room of his tiny apartment wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, lightly bouncing Harley over his shoulder, tucked against his neck, as the little guy does his best to cry his little lungs out, while also holding a phone to his ear with his left hand. He'd nearly fumbled with it once but he doesn't dare hold Harley with only his left arm, because, yeah, _no_. There's a junky tv in the corner, a live broadcast of Chrome Brutus and Brawler Yukon facing down some ugly thing with way too many eyes and arms playing on mute.

 

“ _What do you want me to do about it? In case you don't remember, I'm like, 9 hours away.”_ Now is really _not_ the time for his sister to be snarking at him, jesus christ. Maybe growing up with no one else but two older brothers who were kind of sarcastic assholes a lot of the time hadn't been the best thing for her sense of empathy.

 

“I don't... I don't know what to _do.”_ He could be whining for all he cares, but he's pretty desperate at this point. The sleepless nights he has when Harley _does_ sleep are pure insult to injury, because the baby will always wake up wailing the moment Raleigh barely gets into REM sleep himself. Having a baby around has done wonders for his patience, slowly melting his somewhat hot-headed temper; as frustrated as he gets, he can't help but think, _Yancy wouldn't get this way_. Yancy had somehow had the patience of a saint, and Raleigh wishes he'd inherited some of that.

 

Of course, Yancy's dead and Raleigh's left with probable brain damage and a baby that _won't_ stop crying, so that's a moot point by now.

 

“ _And I would? Bro, just because I have tits doesn't mean I know anything about babies. Have you tried, uh, feeding and changing him?”_ He makes a face at the tv because Jaz isn't there for him to frown at, while Harley just lets out a fantastically loud cry just then, his tiny voice hoarse enough that Raleigh wonders why he can't _just stop_.

 

“I already did, checked his diaper twice, he won't eat...” Maybe it's the utter hopelessness in his voice over the phone, because his sister's tone softens, coming through the speaker tinny but sympathetic.

 

“ _Rals, babies just... cry sometimes, you know?”_ To be fair, Jaz sounds just as equally lost on the other end, and that only makes him feel slightly better about his own incompetence.

 

“Sometimes _I_ just feel like crying,” he mutters into the receiver, turning to the television for a momentary reprieve. Harley has, magically, stopped with his loud sobbing, something which Raleigh is going to treasure for however many seconds it lasts for; the baby hiccups over his shoulder, and Raleigh murmurs some reassuring words to him as he focuses on the tv, eyes following the words running across the bottom of the screen.

 

“ _Raleigh, tell you what; I'm gonna take some time off and come help you out a bit, yeah? How does that sound?”_ The relief he feels is nearly palpable; even if Jaz is only around for a short while, he needs some _sleep._

 

“That sounds... great....” He trails off as his insomnia addled brain finally catches up with what he's reading, with what he's seeing on the screen; Chrome Brutus is little more than a pile of scrap, the conn-pod crumpled like aluminum foil.

 

_-...Kaiju threat neutralized by Brawler Yukon; among the confirmed casualties are Chrome Brutus's pilots, Denise Jacobs and Karen Willas...-_

 

The phone slips from his hand and clatters onto the floor noisily as he tries to steady his breathing, his hand reaching up to support the back of Harley's head; whether it's to comfort the baby or himself, he doesn't know. He can still hear Jaz's voice, sounding so far away, from the phone on the floor; he doesn't trust himself to go and pick it, instead seating himself on the small couch against the wall, Harley held close to him.

 

“ _Raleigh? You there?”_

 

He presses a shaky kiss to Harley's forehead, his downy hair and feather light. Amazingly, Harley hasn't started crying again, which, right now, is a fucking godsend. Even with Jaz yelling at the other end of the phone, he can't stop the thoughts racing through his head. Despite what Denise had told him at the hospital, she'd still sent him some money to care for Harley, still sent some toys and nicknacks for the baby. In her own way, she'd still wanted to be a part of his life, albeit a far away figure in the distance.

 

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry you'll never know your dad, or your mom. I'm sorry all you have is a fuck up like me, I'm so sorry._

 

Harley whimpers into his shoulder, blue eyes watery with unshed tears, and Raleigh Becket once again finds himself thrown clear off his own feet, feeling completely and utterly lost.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Rals, this kid is like, 100% you and Yance, all the way.” Jaz's hair is a nice, if now faded and somewhat obnoxious shade of pink, but he can see the roots and note exactly when she'd stopped up-keeping it. Probably when he'd told her about Harley, he thinks privately.

 

Harley's gussied up in some ridiculously adorable animal themed onesie (it's yellow, and has floppy ears attached to a loose hoodie; he suspects it has something to do with the fact that Yance used to call him a “golden retriever, always trying so hard to please”, when they'd been kids) that Jaz had brought with her, along with a disgusting amount of baby clothes for babies between the ages of 4 and 18 months. Raleigh's never seen so much clothing in his _life,_ his bed now completely overtaken by brightly colored fabric, blankets, and toys _._ He doesn't even want to ask how she'd paid for all of it. Probably through threats.

 

“How can he be 100% of the both of us?” He says wryly, barely even flinching at the mention of their older brother now; as much as it hurts, he can't lose his mind every time he looks at Harley just because he's so thoroughly reminded on himself and Yancy as children. Jaz sticks her tongue out at him, trying to get Harley to imitate her; he's not terribly big for a baby his age, but he can now sit and hold his head up, sort of, so Raleigh still has him seated in his baby carrier.

 

Harley just drools happily, reaching out with chubby starfish fingers to grab at Raleigh; he's beyond the point of getting embarrassed by the fact that he pulls out a tissue to wipe it away like a bad habit now.

 

“He can be 100% whatever he wants, goddamnit.” He doesn't have it in him right now to snipe _no cursing in front of the baby_ at her _,_ because god, why not just turn him into a middle-aged housewife already?

 

Still, he's almost deliriously happy that she's here now; Jaz had decided to postpone her last year of schooling to come and help him out, at least until he got back on his own two feet, even though Raleigh had argued against her for doing it (one of them had to finish college, after all), and he'd probably be worshipping the ground she walked on for a while. Or at least until she stopped teasing him about it.

 

“I will take care of the shopping. I'm not gonna touch a diaper as long as I live, I'm gonna wear ear plugs the moment it's _my_ nap time, and I don't do feeding time. If he ever calls me 'mama' my first task will be to make sure you can't create any spawn of your own; I'm gonna be super cool auntie Jaz, got that?” She'd announced when she'd first shown up, nearly breaking down his door because she wanted to get a glimpse of her precious, adorable nephew (her words, not his).

 

“Come on, what about all those maternal instincts? I'm sure buried somewhere deep in your cold, black heart there's gotta be something that'll tell you 'how to baby'.” She gave him a crooked look at that, before gently poking at Harley's tiny little toes, inciting a pleased laugh.

 

“You and I both know that Yance inherited all of those.”

 

And that had been the end of that conversation.

 

 

 

 

 

Harley's first words, incidentally, are not 'mama'.

 

Jaz's surprised shout from the living room has Raleigh shooting up from the bed where he'd been taking a short (so, so short) nap, rushing to where Jaz and Harley are. His head is filled with thoughts racing back and forth, panic plain on his face.

 

“What? _What?_ What happened?” Jaz looks at him, an excited grin painted on her face, pointing at Harley with a camera, who's sitting up and waving some Jaeger plushie Jaz had appropriated for him out of nowhere, because Raleigh definitely doesn't remember buying it. Her hair had faded enough where she'd just dyed it brown, but the roots are still showing and she hadn't done a great job at it, showing just how tired she was as well from all this baby wrangling. 

 

“He talked!” His worry slowly dissipates, letting his head fall with a bodily thunk. It would be like his sister to jump the gun like that. The baby babbles as he's wont to do nowadays, but it's all just baby gibberish, right?

 

“Jaz, he's been babbling for like, three weeks. I don't think he's quite up to talking yet.” Harley's 6 and a half months old, and Raleigh's done his research, but he doesn't think the kid will be _talking_ for a while. He can barely sit up straight up without falling over, though he's at least able to support his own head and crawl now.

 

“Shows what you know, Mr. I know everything about babies. Harles, look, it's daddy!” She has the camera lifted up again, either already recording or taking photos; Jaz had decided the moment she'd gotten there that she'd document every moment of Harley's life with the tenacity of a woman on a mission, and while Raleigh was kind of annoyed at all the picture taking (there's more than a few of him shirtless with Harley sleeping on his chest; he's pretty certain Jaz has been selling them to the 16 year old girls who live down the hall for free baby sitting duty), he'd be lying if he wasn't also grateful for it. He's got a few photos of Denise and several of Yancy on display all around the tiny apartment; even if they're gone (and his heart tightens at the thought, because it's been over four months since Denise, over a _year_ since Yancy...), he refuses for Harley to grow up without knowing who they had been, that they had _existed._

 

Harley looks up when Jaz calls his name, and looks at where she's pointing, at Raleigh in the doorway, and his expression morphs from the slight and adorable furrowed brows to absolute _glee,_ and he starts waving around the stuffed jaeger in Raleigh's direction; offhandedly, he _thinks_ it's Horizon Brave, from the bulbous cryo cannons and the dull yellow color, and sends off a silent apology to it's pilots for allowing Harley to drool all over it. He's forbid Jaz from pulling out anything Gipsy Danger related for his own reasons, mostly being that he's not sure he can even talk about it himself, and seeing Harley, who looks so much like the both of them, playing with a Gipsy doll... He'll explain it to Harley when he's old enough to understand. Or at least that's what he tells himself.

 

“Da.” _That_ gets Raleigh's attention, but Harley's just babbling it, repeating sounds he hears, it's not like there's _meaning_ behind it-

 

“Da da.” Harley says, _says,_ more firmly, shaking poor Horizon Brave harder now, as if he wants Raleigh to come over there _right now._ Raleigh obliges, scrambling over to where Harley's cushioned against an estimated billion plushies, varying from stuffed Jaegers to animals and other weird things Jaz had picked up in her spare time.

 

Raleigh crawls in front of him on all fours, close enough now that Harley seems pleased, and the baby giggles, a soft, sweet sound that melts Raleigh's heart, pooling at the bottom of his ribcage.

 

“He was looking for you, and then he said it, and I mean, at first I thought he was just repeating words, you know?” Jaz sounds far away now, because Raleigh's universe has narrowed down to the baby in front of him, and he smiles when Harley reaches out for him, one chubby hand managed to grab at his nose.

 

“Come on, Harles, say it – say 'daddy'.” He knows Jaz is readying her camera again, but he can't find it in himself to care, a wide grin threatening to split his face in two.

 

“Da da!” Harley shrieks with laughter again, louder, and Raleigh moves forward, snatching Harley up and blowing a light raspberry onto the giggling child's belly, a murmured litany of _I love you I love you I love you_ leaving his lips. Jaz looks on fondly as Raleigh picks him after that, plushie Brave dropped to the floor, forgotten now that daddy's within grabbing distance.

 

“That's my boy.” Raleigh says tenderly, love in his eyes; he cradles him with his good arm, peppering kisses on his son's forehead as Harley grabs at his shirt and titters with more childish laughter, his eyes closed but his mouth opened with a toothless smile. For this moment, Raleigh can push aside everything else for the time being, can let go of his sorrow and his grief, for this.

 

For his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm unabashedly shameless, come say hi to me on tumblr [here](http://happyasaghost.tumblr.com/)


	2. You are worth hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I angst'd all over this chapter and tried to salvage it with fluff :(
> 
> Also, some quick tidbits: Knifehead attacked February 29th, 2020. Harley is born October, 2020 (conceived in January), so his mom was only about one month along when Yancy died. Raleigh is discharged four months after he wakes up from his also four month long coma, officially leaving the PPDC when Harley's botn. By the time Stacker finds him, it's December, 2024. There's also a teeny bit of a time line change here; here, Raleigh's basically been in the same place for a while, so he's found a little bit earlier, and goes to the Shatterdome a week or so earlier (Raleigh arrives at the shatterdome on January 3rd, 2025 according to the wiki).
> 
> Edit: I made a pretty hilarious mistake up there that shows how bad I am at math as I forgot to account for the new year. Thank you to the kind commenter who caught it!  
> EditEdit: I have realized I've been incredibly _incompetent_ in getting Harley's age right and making sure it's been clarified properly, so any and all confusion is on me. Sorry, peeps! Seriously, please don't be afraid to let me know if anything seems weird, because I've already made a dingus out of myself twice regarding timelines, haha.

_December, 2024_

 

 

 

Stacker Pentecost hasn't changed very much in the time that Raleigh hasn't seen him, which is impressive, considering it's been nearly five years; people are fluid, and change on a whim at times, but the Marshall had always been a fixed point. When he shows up on Raleigh's doorstop two days after Christmas, Raleigh doesn't want to say he's surprised, but...

 

He bids the Marshall hello, but he doesn't invite him into his home until Stacker asks to be let in.

 

“You weren't a terribly hard man to find, Mr. Becket.”

 

“Haven't exactly had the opportunity to go globe-trotting, Marshall.” He drawls, pulling out a container of orange juice from the fridge and drinking directly from it. Raleigh knows what he looks like right now, wearing a faded muscle shirt that's littered with holes here and there, with a pair of equally faded jeans riding low on his narrow hips; he obviously looks like he hasn't had a good shave in days, and his hair is messily swept to the side, desperately in need of at least a light trim. He's a lot slimmer than he used to be, still compact, tight muscle, but he's narrower nowadays, especially now without Jaz around to poke at his dietary habits and late night working out born from insomnia. Jaz would have yelled at him for looking so _ragged_ in front of the Marshall, if she'd still been around.

 

“How long has it been?” It's a hypothetical question if he's ever heard one, but he can't stop himself from answering.

 

“Four years, two and a half months.” He says, without missing a beat, knowing the exact number by heart. The Marshall raises a brow at this, before taking in the state of Raleigh's tiny apartment. He'd never moved out of the place, but three years back, him and Jaz had decided to go all out and redecorate it, for Harley. They'd repainted the walls, reupholstered the furniture, he'd even gotten a not-shit TV; the whole shebang. After that, the place had looked less like “sad bachelor pad of a guy who'd just moved out of his parents house” and more like... well, a home.

 

Recently, though... that probably could have been contested, he thinks with a sharp pang in his heart.

 

There only a few odds and ends, mostly small leftover christmas decorations and a sad little tree, littered around the small living room; most of Harley's toys were secured away in a little chest Jaz had gotten him, and they'd been trying to instill a proper “clean up” rule with him so he wouldn't leave things on the floor for Raleigh to step on and trip over. He watches Stacker's eyes slowly track across the room, pausing on the spool of blue yarn and a set of knitting needles next to an unfinished project sitting on the small coffee table. His eyes roll over to the walls, covered in photographs; there are a few of Jaz and Harley's “art projects” scattered here and there, wooden picture frames that Raleigh had hammered together, covered in glitter and craft supplies. The door to Harley's room is closed, the kid down for his morning nap; Raleigh prays that he doesn't wake up, not right now.

 

“I feel like you might know why I'm here, Mr. Becket.” And he does. He's seen the news, read about the Shatterdomes shutting down; the ache in his heart and his left arm when he'd heard about the Icebox and it's finals days took more out of him than he'd been willing to admit.

 

“I might.” He takes another swig of orange juice, before tossing it back in the fridge. “You don't have to give me the whole dog and pony show, Marshall. I already know what my answer is.”

 

“And what might that be?” Stacker says, as if he also doesn't already know the answer himself; the Marshall looks so _out of place_ in his tiny little apartment that Raleigh almost wishes he could take a picture of it, but then remembers that the only camera he has is broken, shoved into the drawer of his night stand.

 

He shakes his head, running a hand over his face as he braces his left arm on the kitchen counter.

 

“I... I can't. I can't do that anymore. I have other responsibilities now.” _A child._ “And even so, what would I even pilot?” _Who would I pilot it with?_ Is the unsaid part of that thought. Raleigh has also been paying attention to the figures; he has to, when there's nothing more that Harley loves than watching the Jaegers in action. Not there are many Jaegers up and running still.

 

The look in Stacker's eyes tells a somewhat different story. What he tells Raleigh next nearly knocks the breath out of him.

 

Gipsy. Fully functional and operational. It sounds like a dream.

 

“Pray tell, Mr. Becket, what 'responsibilities' do you have that take precedence over the end of the world?” As if Stacker _hadn't_ seen the atrociously colored green (Jaz's idea) and pink (Harley's idea) picture frame covered in fuzzy pipe cleaners that said “ _I love my daddy!”_ on it in shaky child's scrawl on it, housing a photo of Raleigh sitting awkwardly in a hospital chair with his left arm still in a sling, holding a newborn Harley. One of the nurses had evidently taken it, and it had been the only picture Denise had kept of her son. It had been among her personal affects, and for whatever reason, some sentimental tech had sent it to him after she'd died.

 

Raleigh was unabashedly fond of the photo and its frame, and got embarrassingly sentimental whenever he looked at it.

 

As if summoned, the door in the corner of the living cracks open, a pair of large blue eyes barely level with the door knob peeking out. Both him and Stacker turn to the door, and he can feel the Marshall's confusion, slowly ebbing into what is probably muted realization.

 

Well, no hiding the fact now. He heaves a deep sigh, leaning heavily on the kitchen counter before calling out softly.

 

“Harley, why don't you come out and say hello to the Marshall?” He says, softly, imploringly.

 

The door opens further, slowly, and a small child peers out, his expression sleep addled as he rubs at his eyes with his tiny hands, before he runs over to Raleigh, who scoops him up effortlessly and balances him on his right hip.

 

“Harley, this is Marshall Pentecost.” Harley looks at Stacker with a mix of curiosity and wonder in his large blue eyes, but he quickly hides his face into Raleigh's shoulder. He lays a hand on the soft blond hair on Harley's head, a familiar, comforting gesture.

 

“Marshall.” He swallows, suddenly nervous. “This is my son, Harley.” The Marshall nods slowly, a somewhat stunned look on face. It takes a moment for it to change, a soft look suddenly apparent in his eyes. It's not a look that Raleigh's familiar with, not coming from the _Marshall._ He wonders what they look like to Stacker; Harley looks _so much_ like him and Yancy that some days it's hard to get over, but he's long since moved past that.

 

“Hello, Harley.” Harley takes a quick peek, but he buries his face back into Raleigh's shoulder almost immediately. He probably has an _idea_ of who the Marshall is, what with how much he likes the Jaegers, but he's always been a terribly shy kid, something Jaz always used to coo over him for.

 

“He's... ah, he's shy.” To say the least of it. There's a stretch of awkward silence between them for a moment. Raleigh doesn't say that Harley hasn't spoken much in the past few months, that his son's face has been a sad, somber mask for that same amount of time. He doesn't want to think about why.

 

“How old is he?” Raleigh turns his head, speaking gently into Harley's ear.

 

“Harles, how old are you?” It takes a moment, but he finally turns his little face, hair messily falling into his eyes – Raleigh supposes he should get a trim soon, at least to make sure his bangs don't block his vision – towards Stacker, and raises a chubby hand with four fingers showing, his thumb tucked in.

 

“Four years... two months. He turned four in October.” He extrapolates, an echo of his previous statement. It seems like there's something Stacker wants to say, questions he wants to ask, but something gives him pause, and he contemplates the two of them. It's true that Raleigh hadn't exactly hidden himself from the PPDC's eye, but he hadn't really left a number or given out any info on why he'd left either. As far as they'd known, he'd been handed his laundry list of shiny new neuroses, been discharged, and packed up and left.

 

Denise had simply said the baby had been given up for adoption, and never expanded upon it; it had been a private adoption, no names given out at the time, and Raleigh suddenly realizes that no one actually _knows_ what happened to Denise's baby.

 

“Mr. Becket...” Stacker starts slowly, considering his words, “I understand the position you are in right now. But understand the position we are in.” It looks like there's something else he wants to say, a firmness to his words that Raleigh can't ignore, but he's hesitant to say it in front of a child. Raleigh takes the hint for what it is, and sets Harley down on the floor.

 

“Harles, can you pick out what you want to wear today? I'll be there in a little bit, just let me talk to Marshall Pentecost for a bit.” Harley nods, and Raleigh ruffles his hair and leaves a soft kiss on his forehead, before letting him run off back to his room. The Marshall watches this all with a critical eye, a tiny bit of amusement apparent on his expression.

 

“You want to protect your son. I understand, _I do.”_ Something in his voice is so honest that Raleigh can't help but believe him, “But the world is ending, Mr. Becket, and we desperately need all the help we can get. You're not going to be able to protect him from that here.” He speaks gently, but firmly; a solid point, the lone sentry left to guard the tower. Without Stacker Pentecost, Raleigh sincerely doubts they would have ever even gotten this far.

 

“So what are you willing to do to protect him? Hide out here, while we lose everything.” And Raleigh flinches at that, because it's unfair to use Harley against him like that, but fuck it, it's _working._ “Or will you step into a Jaeger again, and fight for him and the rest of the world?”

 

This is the moment where Raleigh wishes that Yancy was still here, that Jaz was still here, because they were always better at making decisions like this, they'd always been _smarter._ He made reckless, snap decisions that didn't always turn out well for himself, but this...

 

“I can't leave him here. There's no one to look after him.” Or rather, there's no way Raleigh would go anywhere without him; Harley's been glued to his right side since he literally born, and they've never been separated for longer than Raleigh to go to work.

 

“He'll come with us, of course. We'll make preparations for both of you at the Shatterdome.” Stacker assures him. Raleigh stays silent for a moment longer, before laying his head down in his hands, elbows on the counter; he's never liked to look vulnerable in front of the Marshall, but what else has he been for the past five years, then?

 

“There never really was a choice here, was there.” He's asking himself more than Stacker, feeling like the weight from five years after Yancy's death has returned again. Can he really uproot his son and go to Hong Kong, just like that?

 

“This is our last chance, Mr. Becket.” Stacker has no right to sound that reassuring, Raleigh thinks, because he mostly remembers being all but scolded for his actions back at the Icebox, cocksure and full of self-confidence he'd been. He's older, tempered if not scuffed steel, quieter; he's a _father_ now, he doesn't have the luxury of time to sit back and relax.

 

He thinks of them then in that moment, his thoughts wandering and flooding with nostalgia. He thinks of Yancy, who never got to see the son that looked so much like him, never even got to know if had been a boy or a girl. He thinks of Denise, who'd always been a soldier, and couldn't bring herself to embrace motherhood, but still had wanted the best for her son. He thinks of Jaz, always taking photos and videos, cataloging their lives so they had something, _anything_ to look back on in happiness.

 

He thinks of them now, how they had all laughed, how they had all cried, been angry, anything to remember that they had been people, that they had _been there._ That they're all _gone_ , taken away from him, from Harley.

 

He misses them, he misses them all _so much_. They should be here for Harley, and they're _not,_ and it's just _Raleigh,_ and christ, how is he supposed to do this by himself?

 

 _Why does everyone leave,_ he thinks to himself late at night, silent, frustrated tears forming at the corners of his eyes, odd hours when his insomnia grips him tightly and refuses to let go, treacherous thoughts constricting his mind.

 

He thinks of Harley. There's so much to say and not enough room that he can encapsulate in a single thought about his son. There are so many things he _wants,_ wants for Harley, wants him to grow up in a better world, to not scrape by in a tiny apartment that contains his entire life. His son deserves better than that.

 

He wants a good life for his son.

 

He really has no choice, then.

 

_For you, I will do anything. I will go down into Hell and tear down its walls, fight off its legions and soldiers, I will overthrow its ruler, all for you to just have a chance at a good life. I will do it for you._

 

 

 

 

 

He tells Harley they're going on a trip, and that he can't bring a lot of things, so he has to choose _very carefully_ what toys he wants to bring. They have to be _really_ important, he emphasizes, and Harley nods seriously, as if he's been tasked with a very important mission. Raleigh shaves, changes, packs exactly one change of clothes for himself and about five for Harley, and rubber bands some photos together into a pile to shove into his worn duffle.

 

Raleigh figures he shouldn't be surprised when the only things Harley picks for himself are his worn Striker Eureka plush (Striker is his _favorite_ , something which Jaz had all but brain washed into him, because _“Those Hansens are soooo dreamy, Rals. They're like, totally your type, aren't they?”_ ), a scarf Raleigh had knit for him with Gipsy's colors (Harley didn't know that Gipsy existed, he didn't even know Raleigh had been a _pilot,_ how do you explain that to a _four year old?)_ , and, with a sharp twinge in his heart, the broken camera Raleigh had shoved into his bedside drawer weeks ago. He's not sure why he never threw it away; he's never been much of a pack rat but he doesn't think... He doesn't think he could throw it away in good conscience.

 

“Harles,” He starts softly, kneeling down and holding his son's tiny hands in his own, the camera between them. “Why do you want to bring this? It's broken.” Harley doesn't say anything at first, his eyes so impossibly blue and sad, but there's a determined air in them. Harley hasn't spoken to anyone else except him for weeks, but Raleigh knows his son can speak; he's just... not feeling it so much these days.

 

“It's 'mportant.” He mumbles quietly, his voice so tiny and showing his age, looking down at the camera; when it had worked, it had been a pretty good camera, but now it's a faded dark purple, scratched with the plastic paint peeling in several places, covered in stickers in areas where they wouldn't get in the way of the actual purpose of it. It held a lot of memories, perhaps literally, as Raleigh was still aware that the memory card was still intact. He'd never removed it, for whatever reason, sentimentality stilling his hand, perhaps.

 

Jaz had loved it, called it her baby, had used it to document their lives; his memories of her in recent years always had her with it hanging around her neck, a familiar, welcoming sight.

 

“ _It's tacky, but it's mine, and I love it. Just like that blue rust bucket of yours you and Yance were so fond of.”_

 

“ _Don't compare Gipsy to a_ camera, _Jaz.”_

 

Oh.

 

“You said we could only bring _really_ important things.” He reaffirms, his brows lightly furrowed; for a four year old, Harley can be shockingly eloquent when he wants to be, but he still speaks with childish diction and thought.

 

 _Oh_ , Raleigh thinks listlessly, his voice suddenly not working, wondering why it's taken this long for it to really hit him. He looks at Harley, at his son, who is so solemn and quiet nowadays, and he looks back at the camera. He nods, then, a lump suddenly forming in his throat.

 

“Yeah... yeah, it is pretty important, isn't it?” Harley nods back, as if, _yes, of course, now you get it, daddy._ Raleigh feels so goddamn stupid right now, how could he not realize...

 

“There will be a lot of techs where we're going. Really – smart guys. Maybe one of them can fix it.” He adds, voice thick, and the look in Harley's eyes is suddenly so filled with _hope,_ a real smile on his face, that it grabs his heart and clenches it tight, the first little bit of light that hasn't been marred by loss afterwards he's seen in his son's eyes in the past _three weeks_. God, now _he_ hopes someone can fix it; they build 250+ feet tall robots, he prays they can fix a _camera_.

 

Anything to see his son smile like that again.

 

 

 

 

 

Harley falls asleep not too far into the trip to Hong Kong, and remains that way for the rest of their travel time; he's sitting in his father's lap, cuddled into the front of Raleigh's jacket ( _“Rals, please, get a jacket that's not so... lumpy. The girls down the hall hate it.” “Please stop giving them photos of me then.” “...I see we're at an impasse now.”),_ scarf wrapped around his shoulders and bundled up in his own little jacket. Stacker looks at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes, from the way his hands curl protectively around Harley's soft hair to the way he refuses to take his own eyes off his son. Striker is lightly grasped by Harley's small arms, even in his sleep; Raleigh's used to finding plushies all over his bed on the nights where his son can't sleep.

 

The Marshall is not one for frivolous questions, so he doesn't bother asking them, something Raleigh is glad for but also inevitably dreading. There will be familiar faces, he knows; everyone that's left will be there.

 

Not that there are many of them left, now.

 

When they get off the chopper, Raleigh expertly balancing a still sleeping Harley on his right hip, he can't help but look around at the bustling area around him. As far as Stacker had told him, only two of the Jaegers were currently on base; Cherno and Striker are to be moved by the end of the week, and Crimson Typhoon was locally based, so it made sense for it to already be here.

 

He didn't know when Gipsy would have been moved from Oblivion Bay, but his heart stills at the thought of seeing her again.

 

The woman waiting on the main deck looks more than a little blatantly surprised at seeing him; he's not sure what she's more surprised by, his own appearance, or Harley, nuzzled into his chest.

 

“Miss Mori, this is Mr. Raleigh Becket, and,” Stacker's eyes soften almost imperceptibly then, “His son, Harley.”

 

Stacker introduces her as Mako Mori, and Raleigh nods politely at her, quirking his lips when she speaks to Stacker in quiet Japanese. His light quip has her looking slightly embarrassed, but the small bow he does with his head seems to melt it away between the two of them, a small smile slowly blooming on her lips.

 

Harley chooses that moment to yawn cutely, his small hands covering his mouth. He sleepily turns his head to look at Mako, and blinks a few times, his groggy eyes slowly focusing on her face.

 

Or rather, her hair – her colored highlights, Raleigh realizes with a sharp jolt to his heart, as Harley looks curiously at her. Mako, it seems, isn't sure to do with the attention, giving a hesitant smile back.

 

“He likes your hair,” Raleigh offers, and it dispels the slight quiet they'd had fall between them for a moment. Harley hides his face in the crook of Raleigh's neck, suddenly bashful, a gesture he's becoming very familiar with, as Mako stifles a small laugh with her hand. If Harley were older, Raleigh swears he would be getting an earful of _Dadddddd, stopppp embarrassing meeee_ (and he's counting on it in the future, what with all the hilarious halloween costumes they'd put him into) _._ As it stands now, however, he's still able to get away with it, and it's adorable.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Raleigh desperately wishes the camera wasn't broken, because Harley's face when they enter the hangar bay where the Jaeger's will be housed is one of sheer _wonder._ There's only one Jaeger currently there, but the insistent tugging on the collar of his jacket tells him that it's quite fine.

 

“Daddy.” Harley whispers, then once more, emphatically “ _Daddy.”_ His eyes are wide and glittering with astonishment as they walk towards where Crimson Typhoon is standing, its pilots playing a game of basketball down by the floor of the docking bay, techs scattered here and there around them.

 

“Yeah, Harles?” He can see the small smile Mako is trying to hide with her clipboard, and there's even a sliver of one threatening to show up on the Marshall's face, but that can't be. He's quite frankly just way too happy that Harley is _talking_ around other people.

 

“Daddy, that's Crim... _Crimson Typhoon.”_ He whispers again, as if Raleigh _doesn't know,_  voice dripping with awe, struggling with the word for a moment; he know exactly which Jaeger it is and what Mark it is. Jaz had taken it upon herself to make sure Harley's first words following their names were nothing useful, and also to antagonize her brother, because _why not_.

 

Harley's first words, in the following order, were: Dada (which later morphed into 'daddy', of course), Jazs (with heavy emphasis on the extra 's' at the end, give or take a lot of drool), dog, cat, and _Jaeger (_ What it came out as was more like 'yay, yay') _._ What followed those was _Striker Eureka_ (which, of course, also came out as something garbled in baby speak that actually sounded _nothing_ like Striker Eureka, but Jaz had been _determined),_ something which Raleigh didn't think he'd ever forgive his sister for, because _why._ The other popular Jaegers had followed soon after that, much to his chagrin.

 

“It is, isn't it.” Stacker says some words to the three Chinese pilots; there's a slight bit of confusion, realization slowly going across their faces one by one as Stacker introduces him and Harley. Their eyes dart between the two of them, recognition blooming on their faces; they know his name,  _of course_ they do.

 

“Mr. Becket, these are the Wei Tang brothers; Cheung, Hu, and Jin.” Each one nods when his name is said, though Raleigh doubts he'd be able to tell them apart if any of them came up to him later alone. The youngest one (at least, Raleigh _thinks_ ), Jin, spies Harley's wide eyed look at their Jaeger, straining his small head to look up at it, and a wide grin crosses his face.

 

“Like him? He's the best of the best.” All three Wei Tangs seemed to take great pride in their Jaeger, something which Raleigh could understand; it's something all pilots do, sort of _have_ to do. One of the other brothers, Hu, takes note of the Striker plushie grasped tightly in Harley's arms, and elbows Jin with the basketball he's holding.

 

“I think he's already got a favorite, Jin.” There's no malice in it, just that friendly rivalry that tends to flow between Jaeger teams; Raleigh just nods his head in assent.

 

“Sorry, guys, Striker's his favorite, and I don't think that's gonna change anytime soon. My sister brainwashed him too well.” He says, almost apologetically, not giving himself the chance to dwell on that particular train of thought. A part of him wonders what's Harley's going to say when Striker's crew _actually_ shows up. Probably a colossal freakout, followed by _Dad, daddyyyy, can I please please please talk to them?_

 

Hu seems to take this as a challenge, letting the basketball in his hands roll down the length of his arm, before flipping his wrist suddenly, the ball now spinning in place on his index finger. Harley's attention is switched from the Jaeger to Hu, and Raleigh hides his smile in Harley's scarf.

 

“Can they do this, though?” Jin laughs, snatching the ball away from his brother and dribbling with it to a far end of the hangar bay, making some ridiculous trick shot as Cheung shoots out to join him. The three of them scrap around with the ball, performing a few tricks here and there, making Harley's mouth fall open in amazement.

 

It's nice, he thinks privately as he presses a quick kiss to Harley's cheek, getting an excited giggled out of him as they watch the Wei Tang brothers play an impromptu game for them, _more than nice,_ to see the childish wonder back on Harley's face. He's missed it, more than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm _still_ unabashedly shameless, come say hi to me on tumblr [here](http://happyasaghost.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Triple edit: _I WROTE THE DATE WRONG **AGAIN**_


	3. Try not to dream a dream tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more filler-ish things this chapter, before we get to the main even next time (I hope?)
> 
> As a note, I'm starting school soon and have a pretty heavy schedule, so updates will come by slower, but I'm definitely finishing this!

When Mako unveils Gipsy, various techs hanging from the rafters and doing some last minute maintenance, Raleigh feels the breath pulled right out him. His eyes shine with the same wonder and amazement that Harley's got on his face, their expressions identical in more than one way. His son has never seen Gipsy before, never even seen a picture of her in tip top condition, nor had Raleigh ever kept any pictures of Chrome Brutus around either; Jaz had promised to keep silent over the matter, but she'd made him make a promise of his own. He feels his heart stutter at not only the sight of Gipsy, restored to her former glory – maybe even better now than she once was – but the thought of the promise he'd made to Jaz, to Yancy's memory, to himself.

 

“ _One day, you'll tell him, okay? You have to. You can't let that just sit in the back of your mind for years and years, Rals. I mean, that big blue machine of yours was never my favorite, but he deserves to know about them.”_

 

'Them' was a number of things; it was Yancy's favorite food, Denise's worst jokes, whether or not Gipsy was taller than Brutus. These are things he promised, and he's not sure how he's going to keep them, because he feels like that list has recently been exponentially lengthened.

 

Maybe he'd done more than run away from just the PPDC, he thinks, gazing up at Gipsy's conn-pod; him and Yance had always liked the fact that Gipsy looked like she had a sweet pair of shades, though Jaz ragged on them for being such dorks about it. He had no idea how he was supposed to sit down a four year old and explain it all to him, but he'd... figure it out someday. Yancy had always been better at _feelings_ , and Raleigh sometimes desperately wished that some of that had rubbed off on him, residually through the Drift or what, he's not sure. Jaz had always been far more blunt, while Yancy had always been better at handling sensitive issues.

 

“Daddy... What Jaeger is that?” Harley whispered into his ear. It must have really been something else for him, to see what was essentially a new and never before seen Jaeger unmasked. Raleigh just smiled fondly, his eyes falling onto the familiar winged decal that had been Gipsy's emblem. The one concession he'd made concerning any mention Gipsy was the small patch that Jaz had found, a leftover from his old bomber jacket; it wouldn't affix itself to knitted fabric very well, so he'd stitched it onto the end of Harley's scarf.

 

It was the one reminder he'd allowed himself, having long since shot down Jaz's idea for a miniature version of his old bomber jacket. They'd nearly gotten into a fist-fight over it.

 

To be fair, they'd nearly gotten into a fist-fight over a lot of things during the previous 7 months.

 

“Gipsy Danger.” He didn't even have it in himself to feel abashed at how much pure admiration was apparent in his voice, the sheer reverence plain as day.

 

Just then, Harley's brows furrowed, his eyes evidently seeing the same decal Raleigh was eyeing, and he looked down at his scarf (the same color as Gipsy's shell), slow realization becoming obvious on his face. He tugged up on the end of it, and Raleigh could nearly _hear_ his thoughts ping-ponging back and forth, he was thinking so loud. His eyes stared down at the patch sewn onto his scarf, before going back up to Gipsy's chest, and then back to his scarf, and then back once more again. He frowned, looking so serious for his age, something which Raleigh (and Mako, from the tiny grin forming on her face) found hilarious.

 

Next to him, Mako is watching the exchange with interest; he doesn't have to say anything, Harley's actions telling enough.

 

“Last of the Mark III's. Solid iron hull, no alloys. That's our Gipsy, with a few new toys and gadgets, of course. Wouldn't have been able to have her here without Miss Mori in charge of fixing her up though.” A familiar voice pipes up behind them. He turns, a face he hasn't seen in four and a half years grinning at him. Harley's brows furrow in contemplation at the words, but Raleigh doesn't notice, not exactly, too engrossed with the appearance of an old friend.

 

“Tendo!” Raleigh wants nothing more than to engulf the smaller man in a bear hug, but he's already got his arms full, so he settles for a less firm side hug.

 

“Been a long time since you showed your face around these parts, and...” Tendo pauses, stepping back and looking at Raleigh like he's grown a second head. Or rather, looking at Harley, who might as well be a second head considering how closely glued he is to Raleigh's side. He stills, surprise plain on his face, realization blooming perhaps faster than most of the others they'd met so far. Tendo had a head start, after all; he'd known Yancy, ( _had joked to Yance once that he'd be the best man at Tendo's wedding),_ known Denise, he'd known all of them.

 

“Looks like you brought a little tagalong with you this time.” There's a moment where Raleigh's afraid this is going to head south rather quickly, but Tendo recovers quickly enough and the surprise on his face is replaced with a warm smile.

 

“What's the lil' guy's name?”

 

“Harley.” He answers easily, a relieved breath leaving him. Harley looks at Tendo curiously, probably quite taken by the bow-tie and slicked back hair, and the older man just flashes an amused grin at him. Tendo's smile falls just a fraction, and Raleigh can imagine why; the kid is the spitting image of not only Raleigh himself, but Yancy as well. He's a huge reminder of Yancy to those who knew him, something that Raleigh had to not let bother him when Harley had been younger; there had even been those odd, maudlin days where Jaz would look at the two of them, and he wondered who she was really seeing.

 

He supposed that maybe Harley really was _100%_ Yance and himself, somehow. It would be impossible to tell just who he took after more until he got older, though.

 

“Got one of the little tykes myself, back home with my girl,” Tendo looks like he's on the verge of whipping out a wallet with pictures, as if to lighten the mood, and when Raleigh looks at him expectantly, as if mentally prodding him _go on,_ he does just that. He's a _dad_ now, after all, he's grown used to women (especially the ones from work, he thinks) cooing over Harley before sharing photos of their own children. The pictures _Tendo_ pulls out are adorable, a baby maybe one or two years old held in the arms of a dark skinned woman who Raleigh _swears_ he's seen before, but...

 

“Cute little guy-wait a minute, Tendo, you married _Alison?”_ He can't hide the incredulity in his voice, and Tendo's grin just widens further, his wedding band flashing on his finger as he flexes his hands, adjusting the bow-tie that Yance had always given him shit for.

 

“Told you she loved me.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I hope you find the candidates I've chosen satisfactory, Mr. Becket. I've studied your fighting techniques and your battle strategies, even...” At this, her eyes still on Harley, sitting on the bed and staring at the scarf in his small hands. Raleigh wonders how much she knows, how much she suspects, before she finishes her train of thought. “Alaska.”

 

“Oh? And what's your assessment?” Probably nothing good, from the way the look on her face scrunches up, but it's gone as quick as it had appeared, if he'd imagined it. She seems hesitant to answer, as if trying to find a way to not make him hate her with one sentence.

 

“I actually... feel as though my previous assessment is no longer valid, due to... recent developments.” Harley, he thinks faintly, Harley is the _recent development._ He can't imagine what Mako sees, when she's likely viewed old interviews with a cocksure, smarmy kid and his long suffering older brother, feeling reckless and immortal as they stood on the shoulders of giants, now faced with a man molded into his current shape by the finger prints of ghosts.

 

“Life doesn't exactly give you the chance to step to the side and take a breather, not really.” He looks back at Harley for a second, a faraway, if melancholy smile settling on his lips. “Sometimes I feel like he's raising me instead of the other way around, and I still have a long way to grow.” He looks back to her, his expression solemn.

 

“I used to be a reckless kid, I know.” He says, voice lowered, quieter, “But I'm here because I look at my son, and I want him to grow up in a world where the Kaiju are just a bad memory. When you're a pilot, when you're out there in the rain, fighting for your life, you make decisions that you can't always take back. When you're a father, a parent, though... you do things for your kids that you wouldn't do for anyone else; you'll do anything for them.” Mako looks slightly taken aback at this, and he takes the moment to ask another question, perhaps changing the subject too quickly and not expertly enough.

 

“So, you're not one of the candidates?” He'd asked her simulator score, idly, during the tour, and he'd been highly impressed. The Marshall's brightest indeed. Mako's face falls slightly, the regret plain in her eyes.

 

“No, but... I want to be a pilot more than anything.” He can hear the yearning in her voice, and he wonders, for a moment, what she'd look like in the conn-pod. Probably spectacular, and more than formidable enough. It's not until after he bids her goodbye, Harley waving at her from behind Raleigh's leg, that he realizes how _tired_ he is.

 

His thoughts wander for longer than they should, probably, and thinks she'd looked amazing fitted into a drivesuit. He wonders what she'd look like, facing him in the Kwoon, and the thought stays in his head until absolute exhaustion batters him and he nods off for a moment, before jolting back awake. Sleep had always been hard to come by for him, ever since five years ago, but these past few months had been an exercise in sheer torture.

 

It had been terrifying, to realize that he'd been essentially passing out of consciousness every so often, especially when Harley was close by; he'd always been a light sleeper and easy to wake, but what if he'd needed him? At least when Jaz had been around there'd been two them in the apartment, until one of them had to go to work.

 

Harley's looking through some coloring books Tendo had handed off to him earlier, crayons grasped in his small fists, right where Raleigh left him. Possibly look too innocent, but he couldn't have nodded off for more than ten minutes.

 

 

 

 

 

Mako's trapped in her own thoughts for a moment when an almost imperceptible sound raps through the metal of her door. Someone's knocking, she realizes.

 

When she slides the door open, there's a moment where she thinks that someone's playing a joke on her, before a soft tugging on her pant leg pulls her attention downward.

 

Little Harley Becket stands before her, probably not even reaching the belt at her waist, Striker plushie in one hand and something wrapped in cloth in the other. He looks up to her with someone akin to admiration in his eyes, childish curiosity taking hold of him.

 

“Hi, Miss Mori.” He says shyly, more politely than she'd give a four year old credit for, and Mako feels her heart melt, just a little; he's a perfect replica of his father, from the floppy blond hair to the shape of his large blue eyes. She's familiar enough with those features; Mako was a 16 year old girl once, and she'd perhaps had more than few tiny pictures pasted to the walls of her room of many good-looking pilots, the Becket boys included (the truth is that she took many of them from Chuck, a secret she will carry to her very grave, for _both_ of their sakes).

 

(It was for _research_ , Chuck would always whine, but she'd never believed him for a second, recognizing the crush of a 15 year old boy for what it was. Not that she hadn't nursed a crush of her own, but, well, that Becket wasn't the one still alive.)

 

“Hello, Harley.” She answers back, softly, while kneeling down so she's eye level with him. Mako hasn't exactly had the opportunity to spend much time around children, so she finds herself slightly at a loss of what to really say to a four year old. It makes her wonder why Raleigh would let his son wander – even if just across the hall – to talk to her. She turns her head to look across the hallway to Raleigh's room, the door wide open; she can't see much but she spies a pair of legs lying haphazard over the edge of the bed just beyond the confines of the doorway.

 

“Daddy doesn't get to sleep lots, so we gotta be quiet, kay?” Harley covers his mouth with his index finger, Striker tucked into the crook of his elbow, in a parody of a _shhhh_ motion like they're having some sort of top secret meeting. Mako finds herself suddenly very confused, before remembering that one of the neatly typed things she'd seen on Raleigh's file was _“suffers from severe insomnia”_. It seems that even five years later, that still holds true. The younger Becket must have wandered off during one of Raleigh's precious few moments of sleep.

 

“Um, you're really smart, right?” Possibly, she liked to think so, especially on days where she and Chuck would get into completely juvenile arguments over completely arbitrary things.

 

She sort of misses those days, before the Kaiju attacks became more frequent and they were allowed to indulge in childish behavior every so often.

 

“I... would like to believe so.”

 

“Can you fix this?” He holds out the wrapped object to her, seemingly huge in his tiny fingers but fitting perfectly into her palms.

 

She takes the offered item, carefully unwrapping the cloth and pushing it aside to reveal a worn digital camera, maybe a few years out of date. Harley seems to take her silence as hesitation, and speaks again, his voice still so impossibly small.

 

“It's really important.” As if that will convince her right there, on the spot. Her finger finds the on switch, pressing down on it and only getting a weak clicking sound in response. Mako's eyes flit from the camera to Harley's pleading face, his big blue eyes beseeching, and she considers both him and the camera for a moment. It's not that she's never tinkered with such things before, growing up around engineers and scientists, and overseeing the restoration of a _Jaeger_ herself, but she finds herself at a slight loss, if only for the action itself.

 

The other pilots won't be at the Shatterdome for another week, at least not if the Marshall has his way. Striker's official decommissioning date is the first of the new year, Cherno's not far after, but Mako figures she has enough to try and fix a broken camera.

 

Harley just hands her the camera as if that's that, because she's _smart_ and therefor she can probably _fix it,_ because he's a child and in his world things just _work_ that way _._ She mulls over the thought, standing up straight and turning over the old thing in her hands. There's a name carved into the bottom, shoddily put there and nearly faded; an impression left behind by someone who isn't here, a story she doesn't known the beginning, middle, or end to.

 

_J. Becket._

 

“I'll do my best, Mr. Becket.” She bows her head in acquiescence, and Harley's excited smile seemingly lights up the whole room; if he really is a mini-me of his father, she imagine's Raleigh's smile would be just as brilliant.

 

 

 

 

 

“Daddy.” Here they go, Raleigh thinks, mentally preparing himself for the verbal flaying he's about to get from his four year old. He sighs, patting the bed (he keeps debating whether he'd fallen asleep for longer than five minutes, but there's a niggling doubt at the back of his mind...), gesturing for Harley to come and sit with him.

 

With Harley slotted next to his side, Striker still in hand, Raleigh ruffles his hair fondly. It's not that Raleigh thinks kids are _stupid_ or anything (goodness knows him and Yance got into loads of trouble back then, though, with Jaz trailing not far behind), but sometimes he thinks Harley is a little too perceptive for his own good.

 

“What's up, kiddo?” Harley looks at him very seriously, or with as much seriousness as a chubby cheeked and floppy hair four year old can muster. God, he's way too cute sometimes.

 

“Are you a pilot?” He stares Raleigh straight out, with a bluntness that hadn't been inherited from himself nor Yancy. There's a furrow in his brows, and Raleigh can tell that they'll have the same wrinkles in several years, because it's the same face he'd make at Yancy all the time when they'd been children.

 

“I was, once. A long time ago.” Five years, from the moment they'd found out Denise had been pregnant to this very second, and Raleigh feels like it hasn't been long at all. He feels like he himself has grown old while watching Harley sprout up like a little seed that Yancy and Denise had planted in their messed up little garden. He doesn't want to be one of those parents who laments on how fast their children grow, because he loves this, he loves every second of being there in Harley's life, but sometimes he can sympathize with them. Sometimes, the moments pass by him too quickly, and he feels like he's missed something important.

 

“Why'd you stop?”

 

“I was scared. I was a kid back then, and I did some...” His heart skips a beat, “Some pretty dumb things.” He doesn't say how he ran away like a goddamn coward, how there had been days where the only time he'd left his bed was to feed and change Harley, that there was a point in his life where he had felt so utterly lost that he didn't know what to do, or who to call. He'd spent more than a few days in Harley's early childhood in a daze, simply going through the motions (if one could have even called them that) of making sure the baby now attached to him was fed and taken care of.

 

“You were scared?” As if the very idea of his father, _being scared,_ is a completely foreign concept to him.

 

“Yeah... I was really scared, back then.” He's not lying when he says this, that nightmares had plagued him and continued to plague him to the day, taking away his precious moments of reprieve that insomnia would allow him, that he'd only barely managed to avoid having panic attacks away from Harley's presence. How much had he hidden from his son, how really barely put together was he, really?

 

There had been times where his mind had turned traitorous, whispering subversive thoughts over his shoulders, and those, _those_ had been the days where he had been so close to giving up, to letting himself sink to the bottom, without Yancy there, without the other piece of his brain there.

 

But the first time Harley had smiled at him, a toothless, genuine thing, his tiny, starfish fingers barely able to reach all the way around Raleigh's index finger, he'd felt a steel chord affix itself to his heart, chasing away the treacherous thoughts, because how, _how_ could he ever leave this?

 

“Are you gonna be a pilot again?” Harley whispers, as if it's some big secret; Raleigh can't even begin to count the number of times that Harley has crooked a finger at him in a _come here_ motion (a gesture learned from Jaz, most definitely), only for his son to whisper something completely irrelevant into his ear. It's cute though, that Harley thinks certain things are so important that they're for Raleigh's ears only ( _“Daddy, daddy, did you know that-”)._ Harley shifts on the bed, cuddling closer into Raleigh's side; Raleigh drapes one of the blankets he'd managed to shove into his duffel over them, at the cost of a second pair of pants for himself. They'd set up another bed for Harley in the room, but Raleigh doubted it would get much use; they were in a new, strange place, and he figured Harley would stay glued to his side for the bulk of it.

 

“That's the plan. I have to find a co-pilot, and then we'll take Gipsy back out onto the field. Our old girl.” He's more than little fond when he speaks. At the mention of Gipsy's name, Harley's head shoots up, looking at him in bemusement.

 

“She was hurt pretty bad, before you were born, and no one could pilot her for a while. But Mako got her all fixed up, so she's better now.” There's only so much he can really say, and he wonders how much of it he could get away with; Harley understands better than most children, but he's still just that, a _child._

 

“Gipsy's 'mportant, right?” His son tries to hide a yawn into the bulk of his scarf, but Raleigh catches it and just smiles. It's been a long day for the both of them, he thinks; it isn't as if Harley's used to the time zone change yet either.

 

“Gipsy,” And at this, he picks up the tail end of Harley's scarf, thumbing at the old patchwork emblem he'd once been so proud of ( _still so proud of_ , he thinks in his head), “She's a part of me. And she's a part of you, too.” And it's so cheesy, he thinks, but he taps on Harley on his chest, not where their hearts are, as people, but in the approximate location of where Gipsy's heart is.

 

Harley's eyes follow his finger, his little hands reaching to where Raleigh had poked him. There's a moment between them, where it's completely silent aside from their breathing, before Harley breaks it with another wide yawn.

 

“I think Mako should be your co-pilot.” He announces airily, in the way that children who think they know better than their parents do, before burrowing deep into Raleigh's side before he has a chance to answer, thrown off course.

 

“What-why?” Raleigh laughs, suddenly breathless; he doesn't want to admit he'd been thinking something very similar to that particular thought, but he lets it go. He wonders, idly, what it would take to convince Stacker into letting Mako into the Kwoon with him, but he waves away the thought.

 

“Cuz.” Comes the muffled response, before Harley pushes away from his side again to give a clearer answer, the small grin playing across his features a twin of the one Yancy used to give him. He hasn't seen Harley this happy for this _long_ in weeks, and it's a pleasant sight, one that grips him heart tight and doesn't let go.

 

“She's smart. And she fixed Gipsy, right?” As if that makes it _obvious,_ he thinks. Raleigh's not entirely sure what to say that, not really, not when faced with his son's beaming face. Instead, he lifts his son into his arms, blowing a raspberry on his cheeks and inciting a shrieked giggle out of him as he seats Harley in his lap; he's still small enough where Raleigh can pick him up easily, but with a forlorn thought he imagines it won't last much longer.

 

“Kiddo, you're gonna be the death of me, someday.” He murmurs into Harley's hair, brushing his fingers through the soft locks, his son's laughter still reverberating through his small chest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi to me on tumblr [here](http://happyasaghost.tumblr.com/) and let's please talk about how ridiculous this movie is.


	4. The time we spend thinking we are okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. School has officially started and my life is officially over ;__;

  
 

The Russians show up next, two days later. Their arrival coincides with the day that Raleigh has to begin testing with drift compatible candidates, but he figures a quick peek into the Jaeger hangar can’t hurt.

 

Striker and the other two Australian Jaegers aren’t due for another four, Raleigh thinks idly, so he has time to mull over how to play damage control for when Harley inevitably loses his goddamn mind over the Australians. While helping Harley get dressed that morning, he suddenly recalls something Jaz had said to him, leafing through some trashy teen mag while waiting for her hair dye to set. It had something to do with the Hansen brothers team becoming the Hansen father and son team, but he can't remember what specifically triggered it.

_“_ _I mean, can you imagine? Father-son drifting must be fuckin' WEIRD, poor kid probably saw his own conception at one point. But, gosh, they're pretty dreeeeeamy, huh? Papa Hansen has that whole grizzled war veteran look and baby Hansen is just the cutest little ginger kid I've ever seen.”_

_“_ _Riiiight, because that's what makes a good pilot, dashing good looks. Careful, Jaz, your inner sexual predator is showing; pretty sure he’s not legal yet.” He'd been well aware of the hypocrisy, even then. She’d just stuck her tongue out at him in response._

_“_ _Hey, we aren’t THAT far apart in age. But don't worry, Rals, you and Yance always placed higher in the polls than Scott and Herc. Hey, did you know that the age difference between you and Harles is the same as the Hansens? Methinks daddy had some fun on his 22nd birthday, if you know what I meeean.”_

_“_ _Jaz, what does that have to do with ANYTHING?”_

 

It's a completely irrelevant train of thought, but the memory has him smiling fondly anyway as he pulls on his favorite (only one he brought with him, whoops) sweater. Jaz had never said anything on the matter aside from side eyeing him pretty hard, because the sweaters were obviously Yancy's and now way too big on him due to how slim he was. He used to fill them out better before Harley had hit toddler age, but, well, rationing had put a bit of an end to that. The sometimes frantic late night insomnia fueled workout sessions hadn't exactly helped either.

 

“Where we goin'?” Harley questions sleepily, rubbing his eyes. Raleigh is completely unsurprised that even in his sleep addled state he'd managed to keep a vice grip on his Striker plush.

 

“Cherno Alpha's coming in today. Wanna go say hi?” The look on Harley's face is near apoplectic and suddenly wide awake, and, of course he remembers where the hangar is now because he's all but dragging Raleigh by the hand in the direction of where Cherno will be docked soon.

 

Raleigh just lets himself be led, nodding at Mako as she comes out of her room. She nods back, a small smile mirrored on her face, before following them out.

 

  
Cherno Alpha is an awe-inspiring sight to behold; perhaps not as shiny or with as many new bells and whistles as Typhoon or Striker, but it's still the oldest Jaeger in the service, and that alone is an achievement in of itself. He wonders if him and Yance would have been able to last as long, if things had been different. Gipsy was still an old machine by today’s standards, but Mako had assured him that she would be ready to take on whatever came at her.

 

Cherno's pilot are just as fearsome as the Jaeger itself, both tall and bleached blond, with dozens of rings on their fingers between the two of them. Once they’d entered the hangar, Raleigh had scooped Harley up in a practiced motion, because his son seemed to have forgotten how to walk the moment they came near, either in awe or actually terrified.

 

Him and Yance had met the Kaidanovskys, once, when both teams had been newly minted; they’d exchanged pleasantries and what have you back and forth, but it seemed like that had been so long ago, in another lifetime. Now, his son is staring unabashedly at them, because Sasha is nearly Raleigh’s height and Aleksis towers over all of them by a good foot at least. Next to him, Mako straightens up, but there’s a friendly look on her face as well, and Raleigh doesn’t miss the smile she and Sasha shoot at one another. Not too many female pilots left in the service, it seemed.

 

Well, there weren’t too many pilots left regardless, so he realized that statement was probably a little warped, thoughts of Chrome Brutus’s pilots dancing through his mind.

 

“Becket Boy.” Aleksis rumbles when they catch sight of him, helmet in hand. Harley ducks his head into the crook of Raleigh’s neck; he just smiles, eyes glittering with familiarity. They hadn’t known each other very well or spoken very much, but the Kaidanovskys had been welcoming the one time the Beckets had gone to Vladivostock. The camaraderie between pilots is something Raleigh has always liked, even if they’d had clashing personalities. It was difficult to hate someone who’d saved your hide from a rampaging Kaiju at least once. They shake hands, Raleigh’s own dwarfed in Aleksis’ fist, and he nods at them both.

 

“Been a while, eh?”

 

“Five and a half years, I believe.”

 

Sasha eyes Harley with interest, a curious look forming on her normally icy visage when Harley peeks out at the two of them, a tiny ‘eep’ escaping his lips. The normally stoic Russians seem slightly surprised at the child in his arms, but it doesn’t show on their faces apart from a quirked brow from the both of them, something which Raleigh is eternally grateful for.

 

Everyone who’d recognized him had taken one look at Harley and wisely not said anything, probably under threat by Tendo to keep their traps shut, even though he could practically hear the gears turning in their heads. He was still waiting for the inevitable deluge of questions to spring forth, from _so where’s his mom?_ to _why on earth did you bring that kid here?_ Raleigh re-adjusts his grip on him, leaning over and whispering into his ear.

 

“Harles, say hello to Cherno’s pilots, Sasha and Aleksis.” It takes a moment for Harley to pull away from Raleigh’s shoulder, and he nods timidly, before, in an echo of Raleigh himself, extends one tiny hand out as if to shake hands with the Russians. To be honest, Raleigh’s never seen him do this before, and he can’t hide the wide grin from forming on his face at it.

 

The Kaidanovkys look at each other for a moment, exchanging non-verbal words, before Aleksis extends one giant fist, index finger out. Harley grabs it, tiny fingers barely reaching all the way around and they shake, just like that. Raleigh can tell Mako is trying to hide her face behind her clipboard, because how can you not think this is the cutest thing ever? Maybe he’s a little biased on the matter, but whatever.

 

“Hi. You’re big.” Harley says suddenly, muted admiration in his voice; Jaz had always promised him he’d  _grow up big and tall like your daddy and R-... your uncle._  Sasha doesn’t quite laugh, but the smile on her face grows just a little; Aleksis does laugh, a deep rumbling sound that has some poor tech scurrying away in fear.

 

“You too, I think, will be big and strong someday, like Cherno.” Sasha intones, her eyes trained specifically on the Striker plush held tightly in Harley’s other arm. Raleigh rolls his eyes internally; all he needs right now is an all out war now between the teams trying to bribe his son into changing favorites. He’d already woken up to a frankly ludicrous amount of candy from the local shops wrapped in red tissue paper on Harley’s bed, and the suspects were rather obvious from the Crimson Typhoon emblem poorly scrawled on the side.

 

Nonetheless, they can’t afford to dawdle for too long, he remembers when his eyes meet Mako’s, and the clipboard in her hands acts as a stark reminder. There are 50 candidates Raleigh has to go through, and that’s gonna take some time. And probably more energy than he actually has to spend.

 

 

By the time they get to the Kwoon, there’s already a small crowd gathered, mostly candidates but also some techs who seem to have nothing better to do, though Raleigh spies the Wei Tangs near the front of the mob. Probably making bets, he thinks mirthfully.

 

“Are you gonna fight with them?”

 

“Just to see if we can drift.” Harley pouts, obviously still stuck on the idea of Mako as his co-pilot, but Raleigh just shakes his head with an amused look on his face.

 

Originally, he’d planned on leaving Harley with Tendo, but his son had, predictably, stuck to him like glue. With this many people around, however, Raleigh wasn’t sure how he was going detach Harley from his side.

 

The answer comes to him when Aleksis, already out of his drivesuit, nods at him and makes a motion with his hands for him to come closer.

 

“We will watch him.” He says in a clipped, accented tone. Raleigh hesitates for a moment, but Harley seems to like the Russians well enough, and acquiesces his son to them after a few seconds of debating it with himself.

 

“You okay with going with the Kaidanovskys for a little bit, Harles?”

 

“Mmhmm.” His son nods, and Raleigh makes to put him down, but before he can, Aleksis expertly plucks Harley from his arms and sets him up on his shoulders, inciting a shriek of delight from him. For a second, Raleigh fears he’ll fall, but the grip Aleksis has on him is gentle but firm, and he doubts anything would be able to take his son away from the Russian’s strong arms. Quite frankly, he’d like to see someone try, but there’s a fear that the Wei Tangs may take it as a very real challenge.

 

“So he can see better.” Harley’s whispered _Ahhh so high!_ instills a small smile on their faces, but he seems pleased enough, eyes wide at being so high above the crowd.

 

He can see the Wei Tangs off to the side collectively make a face at them and whispering something in Chinese to one another, and if he didn’t know any better he would swear the smirk on Sasha’s face is directed right back at the brothers in particular.

 

Yeah, he thinks with a sinking feeling, he’s definitely got a mini-war brewing on his hands. The looks that each team are sending at the other have him suddenly fearing for the state of the Jaeger hangar.

 

  
Of course, he’d been right about maybe not having enough energy to spend. The food at the Shatterdome was like heaven due to Hong Kong’s port, but his body had been neglected for too long, maybe. Still too thin, muscles compacted tightly under his skin, with literally not an ounce of fat to spare. Too many meals passed up for Harley’s sake, a treacherous part of his mind whispers.

 

He’d worked his way through ten candidates, each one just as out of synch with him as the last, and he could feel his body start to burn against him, when a tech from LOCCENT ran in, breathless.

 

“There’s been a Kaiju attack in Sydney!”

 

 

 

Everyone watches with unmasked horror at the enormous category IV that tears through the Wall like paper, before being taken down by Striker.

 

“Vulcan Spectre and Echo Saber were taken down right outside the wall,” Tendo says quietly, shock plain in his voice. Two less Jaegers than they were planning on having at base, Raleigh thinks miserably, his grip on his son tightened just slightly as they watch the proceeding broadcast.

 

“Always knew that wall was just a big mistake…” someone says, sounding far away in the crowd of techs. While Raleigh agrees, part of him wonders if he would have ended up somewhere on the wall instead, if he hadn’t had Harley to take care of.

 

“He has always been a bit of a brat, that one.” Sasha says, one brow quirked with her arms crossed at the following interview. Chuck Hansen is arrogant, cocky, and far too handsome for his own good; all the things Jaz (and, okay, Raleigh would be lying to himself if those same traits didn’t describe nearly every guy he’d ever dated) had liked about him, pretty much.

 

“Not bad kid, just brat.” Aleksis supplies as well, as if clarifying.

 

“Careful, that brat is gonna be here pretty soon; try not to start any fights.” Tendo warns, but there’s a long suffering look on his face that say he doesn’t believe that rule will stay unbroken.

 

It’s when Sasha turns to him, Harley’s eyes wide and trained on the screens, that the severe look on her face softens, and she reaches out, ruffling Harley’s face softly and stopping just short of pinching his cheeks, probably. There’s something beyond just light affection there, and maybe he’s imagining it, but there might even be something akin to  _yearning_  in her eyes. Harley, to his credit, doesn’t pull away or scrunch his face like most children would, and instead just looks at her curiously.

 

“This one is much more well behaved, such a little gentleman.” She’s probably referring to when he’d called her and her husband _“big man and pretty lady”_  during the first candidate tests. The complement, Raleigh realizes, is directed at him as much as it to his son, and he sends her a thankful smile back in response. He’s also maybe a little weirded out by the comparison, but, well, all the pilots are a little weird, he supposes.

 

 

 

 

Well behaved Harley might be, but no one can deny that he’s practically jittering with excitement. The morning that Striker Eureka’s team is supposed to arrive finds Raleigh being forcefully woken from his depressingly short slumber by an already (if haphazardly, his shirt is on backwards and inside out) dressed Harley bouncing on the cot, a repeated “Daddy, daddy, DADDY!” echoing in his ear.

 

He suddenly remembers the day that he’d lost Yancy, that they had all lost Yancy, his own energetic way of trying to get Yance to get off your ass, you’d sleep your entire life away if you had the chance, and he’s wide awake then.

 

“Okay, okay, buddy, I’m up. Give your old man a moment, these bones aren’t young as they used to be.” He laughs, ignoring the pang in his heart.

 

By the time they get to the Hangar, he can see Striker’s already been brought in. Mako is there again, likely to greet them as well, and Harley is yet again leading him by the hand, courage bolstered by the last time, perhaps.

 

“He seems very excited.” She notes when Harley nearly trips, his glee nearly palpable.

 

“Like I said, Striker is his favorite.”

 

“Because of your sister?” Mako says, her lips slightly upturned, Harley either not noticing or choosing not, and the smile on Raleigh’s face falls, just a little. Enough for Mako to realize that she’s perhaps said something that strikes a little too close, a little too soon.

 

“...Yeah. Striker was her favorite, too. We never really talked about Gipsy.” The two of them grow quiet after that, and he wonders, vaguely, how up to date her files on him are, but then, they can’t be that accurate, because they didn’t even know that Harley existed. She’d just been given an old dossier from five years ago, it seemed.

 

A dog barks from across the wide hangar, and the grin on Mako’s face returns as she calls out to him.

 

“Max!” The English Bulldog happily waddling towards them is a much less ferocious version of the one on Striker’s decal, and the man, walking with Stacker next to him holding his leash is another familiar face that Raleigh hasn’t seen in nearly 6 years.

 

“Don’t drool on Miss Mori. He sees a pretty girl and he gets all worked up.”

 

“Mr. Becket, this is Hercules Hansen, but I believe you two have met before.” Harley’s moved so that he’s hidden behind Raleigh’s right leg, hands gripping the edge of his sweater. He has to know who Herc is, but it seems that his burst of confidence is once again overtaken by his shyness, Raleigh muses.

 

“Yes, sir. Manila, six years ago; three jaeger drop. Good to see you again, Sir.” Maybe he’s being a little formal, but he remembers Herc being a good man who was deserving of the respect he’d garnered.

 

“Same to you, Raleigh.” Herc shakes his hand firmly, a solid grip, before leaning close and saying quietly, “I’m sorry about your brother, mate.” He just nods, the wound not quite healed over but the ache doesn’t sting as much as it used.

 

Raleigh feels Harley let go of his sweater then, something he’s acutely aware of while watching his son totter away from his side slightly, Harley’s eyes trained on Herc. Herc’s gaze turns sharply down to the child that has just peered out from behind him, and the question formulating in his brain thankfully never reaches his lips, whatever it may be. Instead, he swiftly recovers after a moment and kneels down so he’s eye-level with Harley, who's decided that hiding behind Raleigh’s leg again is the better option

 

“And what might your name be, li’l tacker? Mine’s Herc.”

 

Raleigh gives him a gentle push, nodding at his son encouragingly, because he has to realize who this is, right? Harley makes a little squeaking sound, letting go of his father and waving one small hand in greeting.

 

“Harley.” He says, voice sounding so tiny and amazed at the same time. The striker plush held tight in his hand gives Herc pause, though he throws Raleigh an amused look, only to get an eyeroll in response.

 

“You like Striker, then?” Harley nods enthusiastically, eyes glittering with glee, and, god, Raleigh doesn’t remember Herc being so smarmy six years ago, because he has a feeling that if the Australians also become involved in this self-imposed challenge, all hell will break loose.

 

“Mine too.” He nods in the direction of the real Striker, standing straight. He turns back to Raleigh, the kind smile on his face less tight than before, as if they’ve suddenly found more common ground.

 

“Have one of my own, back there.” He motions to where Chuck is, far off and engrossed in something other than greeting them. “Not nearly as cute or well-behaved as yours, though.” Mako stifles a giggle next to them and Herc shoots a familiar grin her way, apparently done with giving Max some well deserved affection.

 

The bulldog, however, still seems to want some pets, and gives Harley an experimental sniff, moving closer with his stubby little legs.

 

“No worries, he won’t bite. He’s a lovable coward, this one.” Herc supplies, an amused grin on his face as he looks down at the smaller Becket.

 

“Hi.” Harley says, in that shy voice he uses to greet everyone and everything on the planet. Max barks excitedly, licking happily at Harley’s fingers, getting a giggle out of the four year old. What surprises Raleigh is that Harles willingly sets down his Striker plush to give Max more attention, but then again, he’d never really had the chance to spend a lot of time with dogs, so this must have been yet another novel experience for him.

 

There’s a moment between them all talking to one another, Raleigh eyeing the impressive artillery being loaded onto Striker, before someone shouts “MAX!” from across the large hangar. The aforementioned dog’s head tilts up, as much as his squat body can allow, but before he runs back to Chuck, he scoops up the plush left on the floor and takes off with it.

 

“H-hey, wait, that’s mine!” Harley cries out, running off after him before Raleigh can grab him, light panic gripping him at the sight of his son suddenly darting off. Before Raleigh can run off after him, Herc pats his shoulder apologetically.

 

“Ah, sorry about that. We never did manage to teach Max how to fetch properly.”

 

 

 

  
There’s a doll in Max’s mouth.

 

Or rather, some sort of stuffed animal, Chuck thinks as he wipes off the light amount of drool. He turns it over in one hand while the other is scratching at Max’s neck, one brow raised.

 

“E-excuse me.” A small voice hiccups, and he looks up and, oh, that’s a small child with tears brimming in his large blue eyes. Chuck’s eyes pass over him, before scrolling back down to the doll in his hands, realization blooming on his face.

 

“He yours, mate?” The kid - baby, really, he’s so tiny - nods, sniffling. “Right… sorry about Max then, he never does bring back the right things when we play fetch.” He hands the doll back to the kid, who takes it back and has it immediately in a vice grip, and only when he does that does the proverbial bulb go off in his head.

 

It’s a striker doll. He huffs in amusement, a small smirk on his face. He’d always thought the plushies were a little weird in comparison to the actual plastic action figures, but then, you couldn’t really hand an infant something like that.

 

“Thank you.” The child says, that single phrase probably possessing more politeness than Chuck has shown in the past week.

 

The thing is, while Chuck has been around children before (usually not at length, though), he doesn’t usually find them so  _cute_. The floppy blond hair and big blue eyes are adorable, and maybe he’s a little (okay, very) biased here, but seeing the way the kid’s eye suddenly flit from the plush in his hand up to the real version behind him is pretty damn charming. Then his eyes fall back to Chuck, who can see the realization forming on his chubby little face and his eyes light up as if there are stars in them.

 

“You’re Chuck!”

 

“And who might you be, then?” The kid hides his face behind his doll, suddenly bashful, and oh, Chuck shouldn’t find that as precious as it is. Still, there’s something about the kid that he can’t help but find maddeningly familiar, but for now it’s just a microscopic doubt that he’s seen him, somewhere before.

 

“Harley.” Comes the muffled answer, his large eyes peeking over the top of his plushie; cute kid, cute name, too. If Chuck’d had a heart, he’d say it would have melted at the sight.

 

Idly, he wonders whose kid this is, because despite having grown up in Shatterdomes around the world, Chuck had still been at least ten at the time; this little sprog is maybe, _maybe_ four or five, not that he’s ever been very good at telling age. People didn’t usually bring such small children into places like this, he thinks, suddenly annoyed.

 

Perhaps he could be forgiven then, for not noticing the quick steps making their way over to them.

 

“Harles, please don’t run off like that.” A somewhat familiar voice with only a slight note of worry and exasperation says. There’s suddenly a pair of hands on Harley’s shoulders, before the man leans down and hoists the kid up in a practiced motion on to his right hip.

 

“Sorry, daddy.” The kid actually looks genuinely apologetic, burrowing himself into his father’s shoulder.

 

“Hey, man, sorry about that. Your dog grabbed his doll and he just took off after him.” Whatever Chuck has to say next, maybe a snarky _you should probably keep a better on the little ankle biter_ , dies in his throat when his eyes register the other man’s face. He’s older and thinner now, but Chuck would recognize that face anywhere.

 

His own father walks up to them just then, amusement glittering clear in his eyes as he claps Chuck firmly on the back.

 

“Ah, Chuck, looks like you two’ve already met. Raleigh here will be running point for us in Gipsy Danger.” He nods, jerkily, suddenly realizing why Harley looks so familiar; that face had been on at least one poster he’d yanked from some trashy teen magazine in his youth, heat suddenly filling his face. He'd known that Mako had been restoring that old rust bucket in Oblivion Bay but he didn't realize... Fuck, fuck,  _fuck._

 

He makes a motion in some random direction anywhere away from _here_ , taking hold of Max’s leash, his eyes darting from _father_ to  _son_. Christ, there were no two ways about it, they were practically identical. 

 

“I’ve got somewhere else to be right now. Nice… meeting you.” He bites out, a poor excuse to be sure but fuck them, a tight smile on his face. Before he manages to turn all the way away, however, Harley’s timid voice calls out.

 

“Bye, Chuck!” And christ, even his little wave goodbye is adorable, hands opening and closing in that way that children do without actually waving. He awkwardly waves back, nodding his head goodbye in return, before practically stomping off.

 

“Chuck’s really nice.” He hears the kid excitedly tell his dad,  _Raleigh fucking Becket_ , and he can practically imagine the incredulous smile the kid gets in return.

 

 

Well if this just isn’t fucking  _perfect._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumble with me [here](http://happyasaghost.tumblr.com/)


	5. Soon it will be cold enough to build fires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I am so sorry for how long these are taking ;__; School is sucking the life out of me and it's only been the first week, sob.
> 
> Again, playing a little (very) loose with the time line here, at least with when these events happen.
> 
> EDIT: After going back through this chapter, I just realized a lot of italicized words were left with no space between them and the word after them, though they appeared fine in my original document for it, so please forgive that while I sort this out.

Herc flags him down when he enters the mess hall, Harley’s tiny hand gripping his own. They’d been eating lunch with either Mako or the Wei Tangs, or on one memorable occasion, the Wei Tangs and the Russians, which had nearly resulted in a cafeteria wide food fight. At Harley’s pleading look, however, Raleigh simply sighs and they make their way over to where the Australians are seated.

 

While Raleigh spies the look of consternation on Chuck’s face as they near the table, he tries not to pay too much attention to it. It seems more like the younger Hansen’s face is simply stuck like that more than anything else.

 

He pulls Harley up onto the bench before Herc hands him a plate of steaming hot food, not seeing the odd look the Hansens level at him when he automatically starts separating out pieces of meat and potatoes for Harley. His left hand switches to his right as he pushes his plate before his son.

 

“Need another plate there for the little guy?”

 

“Naw, we’re fine, it’s no trouble.”

 

Raleigh’s seated Harley between himself and Herc, and its obvious to everyone sitting at the table that the kid is beyond excited, from the glee shining in his eyes to the constant bouncing in his seat. It’s only when Raleigh indulgently ruffles his hair and places a napkin into the collar of his shirt like a makeshift bib that he settles down.

 

Raleigh catches the Wei Tangs throwing a less than friendly look at Herc, the older man just smiling back wanly as if he doesn’t fucking know just what he’s stepped into, officially throwing down the gauntlet. It’s then that Raleigh feels a slight shiver run down his spine, and he imagines that if he were to turn his head over to where the Russians are situated, he’d be seeing similar frosty glares from them. He’d hoped, somewhat desperately, that the Australians wouldn’t be taking part in these shenanigans (the Russians had started playing even dirtier, leaving grade A vodka under his pillow that Raleigh was resolutely _not_ saving for a late night, along with some more treats for Harley.)

 

Jesus christ, it’s like they’re all _children._

 

“Please don’t fan this fire.” He implores, leaning over, with what might be slight desperation in his eyes. Herc just turns his gaze over to him and gives him the same smile, the look on his face playing at innocent as he rolls a cupcake that he apparently pulled out of nowhere onto Harley’s plate.

 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, mate.” Harley’s elated gasp at the cupcake just makes the smile on Herc’s face widen.

 

Chuck looks like he wants to say something then, squaring his shoulders and looking straight at Raleigh. The expression on his face struggles between tense and angry, as if he can’t choose between the two, his lips pursed as his eyes scroll between Raleigh and Harley’s faces. Instead, he settles on aggressively contained, which is just short of outright contempt.

 

 

 

“Been out of the game for a while, eh? Haven’t jockeyed for five or so years. Must have been pretty busy.” And maybe it comes out a little too snarky, but Raleigh doesn’t seem to notice, too caught up in his son, who’s now propped up the Striker plush on the table. Its back is turned to Chuck, and he sees the worn tag on it’s little plushie bum, a faded _H. B._ written on it in permanent marker. Something in his heart stutters just then, but he doesn’t let it show on his face.

 

“Parenting is a full time gig,” Raleigh answers slowly, eyes not leaving his son’s face; he doesn’t notice the look the younger Hansen shoots his father, who looks only slightly stricken. “Didn’t really think I could stay, not with a baby on the way.” He ruffles Harley’s hair affectionately with one hand, his son pouting at him with a quiet “ _Not a baby.”_.

 

 _Baby on the way._ So it had happened before he had left the PPDC; Knifehead had probably been the final straw there, Chuck thought, viciously eyeing anything other than Raleigh’s face. He doesn’t _care_ that Becket has kid, he _doesn’t,_ but his dad sure seems to think he does, based on the raised brow that Chuck gets in return from his father.

 

As he opens his mouth to probably say something _really_ stupid, Mako drops gracefully down next to him, giving Max an affectionate scratch behind the ears and ignoring Chuck’s glower at her, a familiar scene playing out between them. Raleigh nods at her with a kind smile that shouldn’t fucking strangle Chuck’s heart like that, still cutting up some meat for Harley’s plate.

 

 

“I found this while cleaning out some old boxes in LOCCENT. I thought Harley might like it.” She says innocently, propping up the object she’d dropped onto the table up next to Striker’s mini doppelganger.

 

The truth of the matter was that she’d done no such thing, but no one had to know how many tears were spilled (everyone in LOCCENT, basically) in trying to get a Gipsy Danger plush from the same series as the Striker one sitting on the table next to it. Herc’s brow raises higher at the sight of it, and Raleigh can’t help but feel a smile growing on his face. It’s been years since he’s seen one of them, all mention of Gipsy banned in their apartment, an unsaid rule that Jaz had only tried to overthrow once or twice.

 

When Raleigh takes a glance over at Harley’s face, the surprise and elation following it are like a sledgehammer to his heart, but it quickly gives way to something else that causes his heart to constrict tighter, a sentiment that likely everyone else at the table shared. It takes a moment, however, for Harley’s glee to turn into worry and distress, his blue eyes searching between the two plushies. His son’s eyes are large and watery and he looks up at him with a pleading look in his eyes.

 

“Which one…” Oh, god, he looks like he’s going to cry because he can’t _choose_ , and Raleigh is suddenly struck with the realization of _why._ He remembers a rule Jaz had instated, about him only carrying one toy at a time; it was more as headache prevention than anything else, due to more than one memorable occasion where a toy had been lost and Harley’s subsequent tears had been beyond tragic. Harles had stuck to the rule after a rather long sit down that had been just as nightmarish as the actual process of trying to find a lost toy.

 

Jaz hadn’t exactly been a proper authority figure in the slightest, but she’d been a stickler for the few rules she had put into place.

 

The suddenly alarmed looks on Chuck, Herc, and Mako’s faces are maybe a _tiny_ bit amusing, leaving him to wonder if they would be completely useless in the event of an actual teary tantrum (Herc had _raised_ a child, shouldn’t he know about this sort of thing?).

 

His eyelids flutter shut, and he leans over, laying a dry kiss on his son’s head, gently running his fingers through the soft hair there. He can hear Harley sniffle slightly, and he lets the smile falls from lips momentarily as he murmurs something softly into Harley’s ear.

 

“It’s okay, kiddo, you can take both. Jaz wouldn’t mind.” Harley nods slowly, wiping at his ruddy cheeks, tears still threatening to fall. Raleigh just sighs, ignoring the curious looks from the two sitting across the table. There’s a flash of surprise on Mako’s face, before it’s replaced with quiet realization, of what, Raleigh’s not sure.

 

Herc, wisely, manages to hide the curiosity from blooming over his face, but Raleigh can tell they all want to ask something. It’s the look in Chuck’s eyes that’s particularly disconcerting, analyzing and sharp, needles prickling at his skin.

 

It’s then that Raleigh gets the distinct impression that Chuck Hansen perhaps doesn’t like him very much.

 

 

 

 

 

“So, as you can see, the Kaiju are obviously the coolest da-darn thing this side of the planet.” It’s funny, Raleigh thinks, how much you realize you curse when you’re put around a child, something which Dr. Geizsler is learning rather quickly.

 

“They’re gross.” Harley announces happily, seated in a desk chair probably appropriated  (stolen) from LOCCENT due to the recent downsizing of K-Science, Striker and Gipsy seated next to him. They’re here because Stacker had suggested they wander down to the lab and introduce themselves, though the _suggestion_ was more mandatory than anything else. It had also led to Newt giving him an impromptu lecture on the Kaiju and everything Raleigh didn’t want to know about them, along with a more in-depth explanation of operation Pitfall that he doesn’t want to think too hard on at the moment.

 

Of course, now it’s a sharp dagger imbedded in the back of his mind, and it’s constantly digging at him, at the realization of what they’re actually going to have to do. He’s seen the bomb strapped to Striker’s back, he knows what it’s capable of and what the blast radius on a thing that size is.

 

“I like the jaegers better.” Newton looks like he takes a personal offense. “Not gross.” The way he says it sounds like _gwoss_ , which actually gets a little _aww aww_ out of the scientist, at least.

 

“W-well maybe, I mean, they’ve got ammonia sliding through those giant veins of theirs, and did you know that a full grown man could walk through a Kaiju’s veins? Look at your hands - _oh, gosh, they’re so tiny -_ look at how little your veins are! Can you imagine how _crazy_ that is?”

 

Harley looks down at his hands at Newt’s suggestion, turning them over and flexing his fingers. He raises them up and opens and closes them at the tattooed man, a nonplussed look on his face.

 

“Gross.” He answers, looking back up the scientist, a questioning look on his face. “What’s ‘mmonia?”

 

Hermann eyes them from across the room, distaste plain on his features; Raleigh just quirks a brow at the exchange. Newt’s not doing a terrible job, and Harley seems entranced well enough, but he figures it’s the _way_ that Dr. Geizsler is going about that is causing the looks Hermann is sending them.

 

“He tries. But Newton has never been around children for longer than five minutes, so please do forgive his lack of manners.” Ah, _manners,_ of course. They ignore the petulant “ _Just because I don’t have a million siblings and have magical child rearing abilities doesn’t make you better than me!”_ that is yelled from the other side of the room, where Newt is attempting to wow Harley with his expansive knowledge of the kaiju. To be fair, Newt was usually apparently rather _good_ with children, but Harley hadn’t exactly ever been allowed to really _be_ a child.

 

Currently, the only thing he’s managed is to make Harley shriek in delight when offered colorful and eye searing temporary tattoos and stickers (Raleigh has already resigned himself to the fact that within the day they are going to be _all over_ his things and probably himself as well), a disbelieving “ _I cannot believe you CARRY THOSE WITH YOU at all times!”_ from Hermann being the only sounds of dissent.

 

“Well, Harles’ isn’t _bored_ , so…” Hermann seems to want to say something about that, but the curious look in Harley’s eyes still his tongue.

 

“He is rather darling, isn’t he.” The other scientist states after a moment of deliberation, his features softening into a small smile. For a moment, Raleigh doesn’t realize he’s talking about Harley and not _Newton,_ and a small grin tugs at his lips as well. “A very well behaved child.” Hermann’s gaze falls to him, “If you don’t mind me as to being so rude, are you raising him by yourself?” It’s a question that Raleigh’s dodged from a few curious techs, but it’s not the killer that _Where’s his mother?_ and _How could you bring your son here?_ would be.

 

“Not completely. My sister helped out a lot, but between you and me, neither of us really, ah, knew much about kids when he came along. I think most of his life has been us trying to not traumatize him _too_ much.” He scratches the back of his head, sheepishly.

 

“Children tend to surprise you like that. I would say you’ve done a rather fine job of raising him.” The praise from what Raleigh had assumed was a normally prickly and prim scientist gives him pause, and it’s then that Hermann offers another comment.

 

“My wife is due in April. I imagine the timing was not quite perfect, in this the world the way it is now, but… Is that not why we’re here, now? To put an end to this?” The little bit of personal info is a surprise, but it makes sense in retrospect. He’s right; they’re all here to stop this, or die trying.

 

“ _Or will you step into a Jaeger again, and fight for him and the rest of the world?”_

 

“We’re doing it for future generations, for the good of the world.” And at this, Raleigh’s eyes zero in on his son, still being amused by Dr. Geizsler’s machinations, and the smile on his face turns impossibly fond.

 

“I’m doing it for him.” He finishes, and Hermann nods in understanding.

  


“Why you gots so many?” Harley points at the many tattoos running up Newt’s arms.

 

“Why? _Why,_ you ask? Why do we ever get inked? We do it because we _love_ our subject matter, and we need to immortalize that love somehow. Or at least as long as our bodies last, I guess.” Newt looks like he wants to say more, but stops at the utterly lost look on the four year old’s face. Raleigh decides to take pity on the poor man and makes his way over to his son.

 

“So you… love them? Like how I love my daddy?” The question is so painfully earnest that it seems to throw the smaller scientist off guard for a second, before he continues on his miniature rant.

 

“Um, maybe not like _that,_ but really, how can I not? These suckers weigh _thousands_ of tons and are capable of amazing things. I mean, take this one for example,” Newt pulls up one of his pant legs, showing off yet another vicious looking Kaiju, “This guy here? Surfaced in February, 2020. Nearly took out this one jaeger before it was destroyed. That’s insanity right there, that was the first time the Kaiju really started hitting back where it hurt, they started to _learn.”_ He waves his hands around his head, standing up straight again.

 

Raleigh freezes.

 

“Codename: _Knifehead.”_ Newt says in a spooky voice, leaning in close to Harley’s face. His son just tilts his head slightly, not in the least bit frightened, wonder in his eyes.

 

Behind them, he faintly heard Hermann mutter “ _Oh, Newton, you idiot,”_ likely holding his face in his hands. Before he can stop himself, he swiftly picks up Harley and the dolls, balancing them on his right hip, nodding his head jerkily toward Newt.

 

“Right, um, sorry, but we’ve gotta go now-”

 

“But I don’t know what ‘mmonia is!”

 

“Harley, _please.”_ He implores, already making his way to door and sending an apologetic if not pained look to Hermann.

 

As they leave the room, he can hear a small shouting match begin behind them.

 

“ _Newton, I cannot BELIEVE you would say such a thing.”_

 

“ _What are you talking about? I didn’t think he’d leave like that!”_

 

“ _You do know who that was, correct?”_

 

“ _Yeah, Raleigh Beck-OH MY GOD I DIDN’T THINK-”_

 

“ _WELL OF COURSE YOU DIDN’T_ THINK _, YOU IMBECILE.”_

 

As he leaves ( _escapes,_ his brain whispers at him), he can still hear Hermann’s acidic voice berating Newt as they make their way down the hall. He pretends it doesn’t bother him, that he’s fine, _he’s fine._

 

Harley’s confused and worried expression as he looks up at him, however, makes it obvious that he _isn’t._

 

 

 

 

Max is missing.

 

This normally isn’t _that_ uncommon, what with various people often kidnapping his dog for cuddles, but Max _is_ his.

 

It’s when he enters the mostly empty mess hall, calling out Max’s name that he hears a resounding bark, followed by childish giggles. Brows quirked, he strides over to the table where he heard the noise from, bending down on one knee and peering underneath.

 

Harley and Max are seated under one of the lunch tables, the Gipsy and Striker dolls propped up next to them as if they’re having a little meeting; there’s a few coloring books on the floor in front of them, crayons scattered. Chuck refuses to admit that this is fucking adorable. Harley’s eye meet his and they light up in excitement, as if Chuck is the best fucking thing he’s seen all day, and he motions for the pilot to join them with his chubby little hands.

 

“Come on, we’re hidin’!” Chuck raises his head above the sea of tables, and catches sight of Mako and Raleigh on the other side, a few tables away. Mako’s eyes meet his from across the room, and she shrugs her shoulders, mouthing _hide and seek_ at him while pointing at the table he’s next to, where the four year old and his dog are sequestered under. Becket looks ragged, as usual, speaking to Mako about something that’s undecipherable from the distance they’re at. He thinks that today is another day of candidate testing, because Becket  _still_ doesn't have a co-pilot.

 

He nods, slowly, unsure of what to say, and looks back down under the table.

 

“Dunno if I’ll fit under there, to be honest.”

 

“There’s lotsa room.” The kid offers while patting the floor in front of him, as if that’ll make Chuck jump at the chance to hide under a cramped metal table. Max barks as if agreeing with him, looking at Chuck imploringly with his droopy eyes, stumpy tail wagging energetically. Harley’s smile shines like the sun, a perfect reflection of his father’s, something which Chuck chooses to _not_ notice. So much of his interaction with this child is trying to refute the fact that he looks so much like his goddamn father, but...

 

Well then.

 

It takes a few more moments of deliberating, but finally he just shrugs his shoulders and then attempts to crawl underneath into the little fort Harley and Max have appropriated for themselves, only smacking his shoulder once in the process.

 

Once he manages to get himself seated (only having to slightly tilt his head to account for the low “ceiling”), he looks almost feebly between the… other persons involved in this meeting.

 

“So… ah… What do you do in this… little fort you have here?”

 

“Hidin’.” The kid offers simply.

 

“Oh. Uh… anything else?” Chuck is totally _awesome_ with children, when they’re fleeting and are only talking to him for a moment to get their autographs, but he finds himself at a slight loss here, under the table.

 

“Colorin’. Max is helpin’.” Max is actually doing no such fucking thing, instead lazily sitting by the four year’s side and slobbering all over him. It seems to Chuck that Max is honestly attached to the kid, which is both adorable and also a little annoying, because Max is _his_ dog. But then his mind catches up to the fact that he’s being slightly _jealous_ of _Raleigh Becket’s_ four year old son, and he quashes that thought process immediately.

 

“Wanna help?” Harley holds out a blue crayon to him, and if Chuck were feeling maudlin and sappy he’d make note of the fact that it’s the exact same color as Harley’s eyes, which are also the exact same color of Raleigh’s eyes. Fuck.

 

He takes the crayon gingerly in hand, ignoring the odd thoughts going through his head and looking down at the page that Harley was engrossed with. His eyebrows furrow together.

 

“Hey, now, you can’t have Striker with those colors.” The little anklebiter has colored Striker _blue_ with the very crayon in Chuck’s hand, taking a silver one in his own now to replace the one he gave to away.

 

“Is it bad?” Oh, no, his lower lips wobbles just a bit, and Chuck backpedals immediately. If the four year old wants to make Striker blue, then _fine._ Harley is so eager to please that Chuck doesn't think it would take much to really get the waterworks going, but again, he's _four._

 

“No, no, it’s all fine. Why blue, though?” He knows full well why.

 

“There are no Gipsy pictures. I like Striker lots though.” So he’s trying to combine them in his own way, Chuck supposes. It makes sense for there not to be an image of Gipsy Danger, at least; it’s not like anyone was going to be clamoring for a washed out rust bucket in a children’s coloring book.

 

“I drawed Gipsy for daddy.” And he pulls out a separate page with a poorly drawn indistinguishable blue figure on it, handing it to Chuck. Just about the only shape Chuck recognizes is the sunglasses shaped eye shield that Harley had drawn in with an orange-yellow crayon. Becket will probably love it, pin it up somewhere for everyone to see, so proud of his little tyke.

 

Chuck doesn’t remember doing this sort of thing a lot, coloring books and the like, but he remembers hiding under tables and building pillow forts, when he'd been much younger. But that had been before... everything. Before the rest of his life had happened.

 

“It looks great.” He says lamely, laying it back on the floor, throat suddenly tight. “I need to go now, have places to be.” The excuse sounds forced even though it's to a child, he thinks, as he makes to leave, suddenly feeling the need to the get the hell out of here.

 

Of course, as Chuck doesn’t make it a habit to go hide under tables, when he gets up he misjudges how _low_ the tabletop actually is. It’s then that he smacks his head on the bottom of the table, cursing loudly as he scrambles out from under it. Harley follows him, a worried look on his face as he climbs out with Striker and Gipsy tucked under one arm.

 

“Oh no, you have a booboo!” He gasps, like it’s the worst thing in the world that could ever happen. Harley looks more upset at this ‘booboo’ than most people have looked at Chuck with actual concern in their eyes. It's odd.

 

“More like I clocked myself getting out of there, kid.” Chuck waves him off, rubbing at the spot on his head where he’d smacked into the table. It doesn’t hurt too bad, more the surprise of it than anything else getting to him.

 

“You need to kiss it better.” Harley says, tugging on his jacket with one hand and pointing at his lips with the other. For a moment, he thinks that Harley actually wants him to lean over so he can do it himself. Chuck eyes him, confusion plain on his face, but before he can respond the kid is already speaking again.

 

“Daddy! Over here!” Harley calls out to his father, and, goddamnit, there he is, already having been in the process of making his way over.

 

“Chuck has a booboo.” He points at Chuck, who sputters inelegantly. “Can you kiss it better?” Even _more_ inelegant sputtering follows. Raleigh's face is stuck in eternal patient father mode, but even there's a slight eye twitch that Chuck doesn't miss.

 

“Look, kid, I don’t need-” He starts, him and Raleigh speaking at the same time.

 

“I think Chuck is grown up enough where he doesn’t-”

 

“But if you don’t kiss it, it won’t get better.” And goddamnit, _there_ are the hints of tears at the corners of Harley’s large eyes, and the two of them look at one another then. There’s a complex array of emotions playing across Chuck’s face - none of them pleasant - caught somewhere between anger and mortification, though Raleigh’s own face is a carefully crafted mask of long-suffering tolerance.

 

“Just... get it over with, old man.” He bites out like it's hard to say, sighing loudly. Raleigh shoots him a look that isn't quite a glare, before looking back at his son and sighing.

 

“Alright, alright; get over here.”

 

“He hit his head.” Harley helpfully pats a spot on his own head in an echo of where Chuck had smacked his skull into the table, and Raleigh's eyes rest upon him them.

 

There's a moment when Chuck's breath leaves him, Raleigh Becket _right there_ , face leaned in close enough where he can feel the puffs of breath on his face, and suddenly there's a quick peck to his head, the deed done.

 

Raleigh steps back quietly, a pleased sound coming from Harley; Chuck realizes belatedly that his face is very, _very_ red and that he has to get the fuck out of here _right now._

 

He doesn't even have it in himself to send some snarky comment Raleigh's way, not with the kid standing right there, and he quickly stomps away, calling Max to him.

 

As he leaves, however, Chuck hears a happy “Bye Chuck!” from Harley, similar to the one in the hangar, and he can't stop himself from giving a small wave back, cursing mentally all the way back to his room, Max in step next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi to me on tumblr [here](http://happyasaghost.tumblr.com/) and let's please talk about how ridiculous this movie is.
> 
> Also, trying to find what little time I have in-between classes to eke out more chapters, but it's gonna still be slow; sorry ;__;


	6. Replace the better side of me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update! As usual, apologies for being slow, I'm a senior in college so my life is sort of very hectic @__@

 

The next time he’s in the Kwoon, Harley is standing over by Mako and Stacker, and it makes for a rather amusing sight; the Marshall and his brightest, with a four year old who’s not even tall enough to reach Mako’s waist next to them. Originally, Raleigh had assumed that Harley would go back to the Russians for a bird’s eye view of the proceedings, but for whatever reason he’s attached to Mako’s side for today. It probably has something to do with the Gipsy doll that he’s now begun carrying along with Striker, the two of them tucked into the crook of his arm.

 

He doesn’t strictly _like_ the nonsense that’s going on right now between the other pilots, but part of him can’t help but admit it’s amusing. Anything, he thinks, that lets him hear Harley’s innocent giggling, can’t be too terrible.

 

The peanut gallery watching them from across the room titters in amusement when Harley tugs on Mako’s pant leg, resulting in her leaning down and letting him whisper into her ear. Raleigh can’t hear what Harley’s loud whispering is, but the surprised look on Mako’s face tells him that’s probably vaguely embarrassing.

 

It takes another three candidates, however, for him to call her out on the faces she’s making after each defeat.

 

And after that, it only takes Harley shyly tugging at the Marshall’s pant leg and politely asking _Can Mako please try_ for Mako to finally get the chance to step into the Kwoon with him.

 

She lays her boots on the floor, before she steps onto the mat, and he knows he’s found his co-pilot.

 

 

He’s half-right; they’re definitely drift compatible, but it doesn’t go nearly as smoothly as he hopes it would.

 

 

Mako nearly goes after the RABIT.

 

Raleigh can feel it, in the moment that he unintentionally throws them out of alignment, that’s he’s just done a very stupid thing. She’s thrust into an old scene and finds herself trapping the two of them there, and it’s when she raises her hand in defense that Raleigh realizes that _LOCCENT is right there, if the plasma cannon goes off everything will go up in smoke,_ that he just _slams down_ on the memory, pulling her back and out of there.

 

He doesn’t know how he does it, how he pulls her back, but it might be the panicked thoughts of _Harley sitting next to Tendo, watching the preceding test_ , that he can’t let anything go wrong here. He can’t, he can’t, _he can’t._ And maybe those thoughts are enough, because it somehow gets him through to her, allowing him to pull her back and ground her in the present.

 

Onibaba vanishes, the haze of the memory slowly melting away, and the two of them stare at one another, breathless but panic dissipating. Raleigh can see the fear in her eyes transforming into horrified realization at what she’d nearly just done.

 

“ _Raleigh? Mako? You two okay? Your levels are back in synch, steadily rising again.”_

 

“Yeah,” He swallows, his heart nearly in his throat. “Yeah, we’re fine. Sorry about that. I fell out first, but we’re back.” He can hear excited childish chatter over the other end of the comm, Harley asking Tendo what’s happening now, but he doesn’t catch the older man’s response, his relief nearly palpable. The part of him that is a concerned father almost wants to yell, but he can feel Mako doing that on her own to herself in her head, berating herself for that near disastrous slip.

 

“You did fine.” He says, trying to sound encouraging when his heart is trying to wrench itself out of his chest, it’s beating so fast. “You didn’t go after it.” The look in her eyes tells him otherwise, that she knows what could have happened and still let herself get caught, but she just nods, swallowing, her eyes brimming with unshed tears that Raleigh knows are mirrored on his own face. He suddenly feels _exhausted_ , but they have another test to run, he can’t just _stop_ right now. The terror in her eyes turns quickly into concern, and he has to stop himself from letting the drift flood through him and rend him to his soul.

 

Everything is fine, everything is okay. No one got hurt.

 

The rest of the test is an outstanding success, but Raleigh can hear Mako through the drift, a reverberating apology in Japanese echoing in his skull. The part of him that isn’t trying to calm his breathing wants to take her hand and tell her it’s okay, it’s okay, _it’s okay._

 

It’s okay, he thinks, Harley’s excited face greeting them when they exit the Conn-pod, everything is okay.

  
  


 

“Real _smooth_ test run there, _Ra_ leigh.”

 

It figures, he thinks, that it takes something like that near disaster for Chuck to blow up. Not that Chuck had been so cordial to begin with. There had still been some complications blip up here and there after the test, enough that Stacker had wanted some words with Mako; Harley was still with Tendo, at least.

 

Of course, Raleigh figures just as much of the blame falls on him here for even rising to the bait in the first place. The snide comments and the thinly veiled dark looks are already pulling him to the end of his normally considerable patience. It’s that comment, however, that has him rounding on the younger man, getting into his personal space. Chuck seems thrown for a moment, before a familiar angry look crosses his face again.

 

“Look, I’m gonna do my best to keep the heat off of you down there, but it’s gonna be a _little_ weird with you constantly glaring daggers at my back.”

 

“And how, pray tell, are you gonna _keep the heat_ off of me when you can barely seem to do that for yourself?” Chuck sneers back, giving him a flick him on the chest with his fingers. It seemed without Harley there to be some sort of buffer (and what was the deal with that, even?), Chuck had no problem chewing him out.

 

“What the hell is your problem with me?” He bites out, fed up. He doesn’t have _time_ to get into a dick measuring contest with some cocky jerk, not when he hasn’t slept, or eaten, or just fucking _done anything wrong_ as far as he can tell.

 

There’s some imperceptible look on Chuck’s face then, a mix of different emotions running across his visage that has Raleigh hesitate for a moment, before he continues talking.

 

“My problem? Oh, you mean aside from the fact that you barely held that pathetic neural handshake together? Or the fact that you haven’t jockeyed for five years, and yet we still expect you to go out there as if there’s nothing wrong with that? My problem is you, washed out has-been you are, dragging that kid of yours around here, in a place where no child should be.” Raleigh looks like he’s been physically struck, an array of emotions playing across his face that Chuck doesn’t find satisfying at all, but fuck, he’s already put his foot in it.

 

“What kind of father are you, bringing that kid to watch the end of the world here?” That, it seems, is the final straw that breaks the fragile camel’s back, because Raleigh surges forward and throws a hard fist at his face, disorienting him enough for the older man to push him up against the wall. One of Chuck’s hand blindly reaches out and grabs the at the front of Raleigh’s sweater, and he hesitates then, his fingers seeming to just grab nothing but fabric, feeling the too thin flesh beneath. It’s strange, despite the outrageous strength being displayed, the disparity of how _thin_ the body beneath his fingers feels.

 

It doesn’t feel _right._

 

And then Raleigh’s face is mere inches from his own, quiet, controlled anger brimming beneath the surface.

 

“I am a father that will do anything for his son, even if that means looking out for assholes with daddy issues like you.” He hisses. They stand there, locked with each other like that for a few silent moments, before a shy voice calls out them, cutting through the air like a knife.

 

“Daddy?” Raleigh lets go of him like he physically burns to hold on to, his head whipping around to see Harley down the hallway, being led by Tendo, who just shoots the two of them an unimpressed look, crossing his arms as if he’s unamused with the proceedings.

 

The two of them just stand there, stock still, as Harley runs up to them, looking reproachfully between the two of them, Strike and Gipsy held close in his grip. Off in the distance, they hear Tendo mutter “ _What did I say about not starting a fight?”_ as he shakes his head in long suffering annoyance.

 

“Are you fightin’?” There’s a watery sheen in Harley’s eyes that totters dangerously on the edge of what might be a teary tantrum, and both men are struck by how much that _hurts_. Raleigh swiftly scoops him in his arms, trying to hide the panic in his own eyes while making reassuring sounds as he runs his hand over his son’s head.

 

“No, no, no, we were just…” He looks at Chuck for a moment, the fire in his eyes gone and suddenly replaced with a hapless father trying to soothe his son. Chuck feels as though the fight has just gone and left him, suddenly deflated; even the shiner on his cheek that Raleigh had thrown at him aches mutedly, seemingly unimportant now that he’s faced with a four year who’s about to start crying.

 

“We were just… arguing.” Raleigh shoots him a poisonous look that Chuck can practically _hear,_ a firm _You are not helping, you fucking asshole_ ringing in his ears.

 

“Why?” The question rings out in Chuck’s mind like a gunshot, and he scrambles for something, _anything,_ to say to still the deluge of tears trailing down Harley’s face. His eyes fall to the plushies still held in the child’s grasp, a stupid idea coming to mind.

 

“Over… which Jaeger is better. Striker or Gipsy.” He stands up straighter then, and he can see the lightbulb flash in Raleigh’s eyes, the two of them staring at one another silently after that. It seems to be enough for Harley, however, who just hiccups and wipes at one of his eyes with a chubby fist.

 

“That’s silly.” He says quietly, leaning into Raleigh’s shoulder. “Don’t fight over that.” He looks at Chuck with an imploring look in his eyes, and Raleigh nods at him shortly, readjusting his grip on his son before taking off at a brisk walk down the corridor.

 

Before they disappear out of sight, Chuck hears Harley murmur something to his father that goes straight to his heart, piercing it and letting the anger evaporate out of him.

 

“They’re both the best.”

 

Chuck stands alone in the hallway for a good ten minutes, staring off in the direction they went, and his heart feels like it’s been crushed into finely ground powder.

  
  
  


“ _You can’t just keep doing this, it’s not healthy-”_

 

“ _And who are you to get on my back about what’s healthy? I don’t exactly see you being a pinnacle of human health, you’re practically skin and bones right now.”_

 

“ _This isn’t about me! It’s about you, and-”_

 

_A small, frightened voice pipes up from the cracked doorway, freezing them both in their tracks, “Why’re you fightin’?”_

  
  
  
  


Mako finds him sitting above Gipsy’s docking bay, with Harley in his lap, now fast asleep.

 

“Tendo perhaps mentioned an… altercation you had with Chuck.” He cringes, wondering if the other man had told anyone else. He doubted it, but it was still a painful thought to think over.

 

“I figured. Might as well settle down, then.” He pats the spot next to him, Harley fast asleep in his arms. Mako nods, and scoots over next to him; not close enough to touch, but if she were to reach out, she could run her fingers through Harley’s soft hair. There’s a look in her eyes that is suddenly calculating, as if she’s cataloging every minute difference between the two of them, rather than the similarities like most people would.

 

“You figured it out, huh? I guess you would have seen it.” He muses, more to himself than her.

 

“I didn’t…” She starts, but Raleigh cuts her off.

 

“Yancy’s girlfriend was pregnant when he died.” He says with little to no preamble, a deep sigh escaping him. “She was one of Chrome Brutus’ pilots.” He lets the statement hang in the air, letting Mako come to her own conclusions; he can see her put the pieces together, and a troubled expression crosses her face, her brows furrowed together.

 

“But he’s my son, whether or not I was involved in his… creation.” He affirms, making a face there, and he can spy a tiny sliver of a smile on her face with the way he says it.

 

“I do not think anyone would doubt that he is yours, biologically or not.” She offers, as if to try and comfort him. It’s a nice sentiment, he thinks, and it’s true; no one has ever thought the wiser of it, because how could they not? Harley was equal parts him and Yancy, and he’d have to really stretch it to see anything of Denise in him. Which, okay, was a little depressing.

 

“I was surprised, when the Marshall brought you back, that you had him with you…” She hadn’t known he’d existed, so that made sense, “But if I had known… I would not think you would have returned.” She admits truthfully.

 

“I’m not gonna lie, there was a good chance I wasn’t going to come back, but…” His voice grows quiet at the thought.

 

“I came back for him. I don’t think I could have lived with myself, if I didn’t at least _try…”_ The lump that forms in his throat is not unexpected, but it’s strange to think of it now, as if it’s finally hitting him.

 

“I know. I saw.” Mako leans over, her eyes focused on Harley’s sleeping face. It had taken a little time to calm him down, but eventually he’d tired himself out and just fallen straight to sleep, content with drowsily watching the techs work on some last minute repairs on Gipsy.

 

“Does he know?”

 

“Does he? Maybe. Jaz and I had a hell of a time trying to figure out how to explain that sort of thing to a three year old. Believe me, the alternative was worse; he’d look at pictures of Yance and ask “ _who that?”_ , and I couldn’t find a way to answer that either.”

 

“What did you end up telling him?”

 

He laughs, and Harley snuggles closer into the front of his jacket. “Well… something along the lines of “I didn’t _make_ him”; he’s still under the impression that babies come from a cabbage patch or factory,” Raleigh looks over at her, a sly look on his face, “I don’t think I can ever tell him that he was conceived in a Jaeger Hangar. My brother was terrible at not letting the things he and his girlfriend did come through the drift.” Mako’s hands fly to her lips to muffle the laugh bubbling out at that.

 

“When he’s older I’ll have to sit him down for real and make sure he understands, but for now...” A small ghost of a smile breaks on Mako’s lips.

 

“I imagine that will be quite the conversation.”

 

They sit in silence for a few moments, and there’s an apology forming on his lips, an _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to throw us out of alignment like that, I should have warned you,_ but Mako beats him to it.

 

“You do not need to apologize, Raleigh. I knew the risks.” She looks at Harley meaningfully, and he can see the contemplated horror in her eyes at what could have happened.

 

“Still doesn’t mean I’m completely off the hook for that.” He lets the words fall like snow, letting the only sounds be power tools working on last minute adjustments.

 

“Are you scared?” Mako suddenly says, “Do you fear what is coming?” She swallows, staring at Gipsy’s heart. It’s a morbid question to ask, she knows, but it spills from her lips before she can stop it.

 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, simply staring up at the Jaeger before them, pondering on what to say.

 

“I think I would be crazy if I weren’t.” He takes a deep breath, “I’ve seen that thing they’ve strapped to Striker’s back, and I know how runs on the breach have gone before. How can I not be scared?” He feels like if he says the words, they’ll suddenly come true, but it’s not without basis, of course.

 

His son has already lost everything else to the Kaiju.

 

“If I don’t come back…” He swallows, blinking hard and adjusting his grip on Harley, as if to the make sure he’s still there.

 

“We cannot dwell on uncertain outcomes.” Mako says firmly, breathing deeply and sitting up straight.

 

It takes another few minutes of them sitting in companionable silence before Raleigh speaks again.

 

“I totally punched Chuck in the face earlier.” He admits, somewhat sheepishly, as if suddenly ashamed of himself. It’s a little embarrassing, he thinks; he’s a grown ass man, he can’t just go _punching_ some handsome jackass just because he’s a jerk. Mako just looks at him, her face blank but he can detect some sort of tolerant exasperation there.

 

“Chuck somewhat lends himself to getting punched in the face.”

 

“He just… is he usually such an _asshole?”_ He near whispers the last word, as if Harley will suddenly wake up only to hear that part. Mako had a thoughtful expression on her face, then.

 

“Chuck is… he is complicated. But also simple. He is not inherently a bad person.” Raleigh sighs, as if suddenly deflated. He remembers watching the kid on the news, a smart mouthed punk who’d still done his job, and done it _well,_ furthermore. Jaz had always like that about him, somehow.

 

“ _He’s a fucking brat, but damn, he’s good at what he does.”_

 

“I mean, I figured that. Harley likes him and he seems okay with kids, but what’s his problem with _me?”_ The moment he says it, it’s like a light goes off in his skull, a random flash of a memory from when they’d drifted coming to the forefront of his mind.

 

“I… goddamnit.” Mako, somehow, seems to know what he’s thinking of, seeing the illumination on his face, plain as day, and chooses to take pity on him, perhaps.

 

“Chuck was a very big fan of Gipsy Danger, back before…” She trails off, wanting to say more, but something stills her tongue. He looks at her imploringly, because part of him wants this to be a joke, they can’t have _both…_

 

“He… He idolized you and your brother, and I think after… Alaska, he wondered where you’d gone.” _We all wondered_ _where you’d gone_ are the words she doesn’t say, but he can hear them, clear as day in his head. Raleigh tries to imagine what it must have been like for 16 year old Chuck Hansen to realize that one of his heroes had died, and the other had, seemingly, turned tail and run.

 

She looks away for a moment, a small blush appearing on her face, “I think he may have _liked_ you, back when when we were younger.“ Raleigh laughs breathlessly at that, not _at_ Chuck but more at the thought itself, remembering Jaz teasing him about _picking which Hansen you like best, so I can have the other._

 

“Talk about a broken pedestal,” He says humorlessly, holding Harley closer to him. It’s not like anyone had _known;_ he wondered if the rest of the world felt as betrayed by him, and he remembers thinking at the time, _Fuck the rest of the world._ They hadn’t done him any favors at the time, and he hadn’t been feeling generous enough to do so either.

 

“It is no excuse for his behavior towards you; Chuck can say terrible things, has said as much to me, but he is not… he is not a bad person. Do not hate him for that.” She pauses, before reiterating, “Hate him for all the other stupid things he does,” He snorts in amusement at that.

 

As much as an asshole that the Australian could be, however, all Raleigh can think of is how he’d humored Harley, and had apparently made a herculean effort to _not_ be a jerk in front of him.

 

“I can see… slivers of someone who isn’t an ass.” He smiles, momentarily, nodding his head as he remembered what went on in the hallway.

 

“But he totally deserved that punch.”

 

“I am sure,” Mako smiles.

  
  
  
  


Then the double event happens.

 

Raleigh doesn’t even have _time_ to say anything to Harley, his son’s face suddenly a mask of confusion; he manages an _I’ll be back soon, be good for Tendo,_ before being rushed to suit up and drop.

 

They put Gipsy in the bay, between Typhoon and Cherno, with Striker bringing up the rear. They're going to be facing down two enormous category IV’s, moving at breakneck speeds towards the harbor, about to the break the miracle mile.

 

The last thing Raleigh is thinking of before they initiate the neural handshake is his son’s face, clutching mini-Gipsy and Striker to his chest.

 

 

“ _Come back soon, okay, daddy?”_  
  
“ _I’ll be back soon, I promise.”_

 

 

 

“I promise,” He breathes out, and next to him, Mako nods, her voice a comforting litany on repeat in his head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me for how long this took over [here](http://happyasaghost.tumblr.com/).


	7. The stars that I brought down for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL THAT TOOK FOREVER. I'm still not 100% pleased with this chapter, as I feel things move a little too fast (for my normally glacial speed *rolls eyes*) BUT HERE WE GO

 

They nearly lose Cherno and Typhoon.

 

It’s the EMP blast from Leatherback that nearly does them all in; Gipsy manages to stay online but Striker and Typhoon are out for the count.

 

Cherno nearly gets taken out, it’s massive, slow frame not quick enough to dodge the entirety of Otachi’s acid, but together they manage to take down Leatherback, though not before the other Kaiju manages to get a few good hits in to Typhoon and Striker, sitting dead in the harbor. Typhoon’s got a shattered arm on the mechanical side, the rotary blade no longer usable on the right lower wrist, and Striker, they realize, is down one pilot, Herc’s arm now wrapped in a sling.

 

Regardless, it’s a win in the end, even when Gipsy falls from the sky back down to earth.

  


“My boy, he’s grateful. He just doesn’t want to admit it in front of all these people.” Herc says, with a small, exasperated smile on his face, something familiar shimmering in his eyes. Raleigh looks past him into the crowd of people and sees Chuck, and when their eyes meet the younger man ducks his head in embarrassment, red heating up his cheeks. Something about the action is just so charming that Raleigh can’t help but toss a warm smile when Chuck raises his head again, nodding in affirmation.

 

It figures that it would take saving their asses like this to get Chuck to warm up to him, if only a little.

 

Raleigh will still happily punch him if he makes anymore snide comments, however.

  
  


He figures he doesn’t have much to say to Chuck Hansen when the the guy stops him in the hall, just short of his room.

 

Raleigh only turns to face Chuck because he’s fucking exhausted, having officially been banished to his room by Mako, who’d seen just how bone deep the exhaustion was, and his own son. Harley had patted him on the cheek and kissed his forehead in an echo of how Raleigh himself bid his son goodnight, kindly whispering _“Go sleep, daddy.”_

 

He remembers Herc’s words, that Chuck is thankful, but wouldn’t show it in front of anyone else, and he wonders, momentarily, if this is the only way Chuck can show it. Away from other people, where no one would know.

  


 

 

Incidentally, the only reason Chuck goes (or the only reason he tells himself that he goes), as it turns out, is because Harley expertly pulls the rug out from under him.

 

“You should say sorry.” He doesn’t have anything to respond to that, wanting to escape when Harley tugs on his jacket in askance to lean down. He sees Mako standing off to the side, Becket the elder already having walked off down back to his room; she gives him a significant look that he’s all too familiar with, a _you listen and you listen good, Hansen_ if he’d ever seen one.

 

“You don’t need to fight, kay? Daddy doesn’t like fightin’.” The kid says it so matter of fact, completely earnest, as if everyone should know this, and Chuck?

 

Well, he goes.

  
  


 

 

“I… I wanted to…” And here his lips twist into what might be an attempt at a smile but it just turns into grimace instead, Raleigh’s tired gaze on him perhaps not helping. It’s not like Chuck has never apologized before, so he doesn’t understand why this is so hard, then he realizes that he _can’t remember_ the last time he really apologized to anyone.

 

“Your piloting out there, wasn’t too bad.” He forces out, and fucking Becket just _tilts_ his head slightly as if he didn’t understand what was being said. He’s not sure what he expects at this point, because a slightly confuzzled look and a wan smile were not it. Maybe more punching and another throw-down to the floor, but not this.

 

He means it, too. They still have four jaegers (in varying arrays of condition) and all their pilots; there had definitely been a moment when Chuck had certainly actually been fearing for his life, standing atop Striker with his father at his side; he’d been sure they had been facing down certain death.

 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” He honestly sounds like he has no fucking clue what Chuck actually just said, looking lost and tired but at the same time, there’s a smile on his lips that Chuck is 100% sure he uses on his four year old son when he’s being an over indulgent father. Currently, Chuck is doing his best to resolutely not find that charming.

 

“Look, mate, I’m _trying_ to apologize here.” At this, Becket tilts his head the other way, lips still quirked in that infuriating smile, eyelids drooping just a tad. The adrenaline from falling out of the fucking sky must be fading away, and fast, because he barely looks like he can even stand on his own.

 

And, fuck, he’s still way too attractive to be real, even like this; exhausted and near demolished by the previous events of the night before, with no time to actually sit down and rest. If he’s being honest with himself, however, Becket hasn’t looked like he’s gotten a decent night’s sleep in… ever. The bags around the older man’s eyes have always been rather heavy, he thinks with a jolt, but they’re even more pronounced now.

 

“Better try harder, then.” And, oh, christ, now Becket’s got one hand outstretched, and makes a come here motion, crooking his index finger towards himself; it’s a gesture that Chuck is fairly certain he’s seen Harley perform in an attempt to get Mako to come listen to whatever inane chatter children have to share. He tries not to think about how much of mini-Becket is straight from his father, because the thought hurts his heart more than he’s willing to admit.

 

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself and taking a step forward, putting himself closer into Raleigh’s personal space, close enough to inhale his scent and see the heavy bags under his eyes. There’s something in Raleigh’s eyes when he steps forward that Chuck doesn’t want to heavily dissect, as if he’s being analyzed by a sleepy, way too skinny guy in a lumpy sweater.

 

“Maybe you should get your ears checked, old timer.” He says, watching the way Raleigh sways just slightly. The look on his face is one of quiet consideration, as if the older man is taking note of something that Chuck can’t see.

 

“Mmhmm,” Is the quiet response, and Chuck’s not sure why he doesn’t react quickly, his heart beating wildly in his chest, why he doesn’t just push him away, because in that moment Raleigh Becket sways forward and-

 

Lets his head fall down on Chuck’s shoulder, cheek nuzzling the furred collar of his jacket as he takes a deep breathe.

 

_What the fucking fuck._

 

“Stay there…” comes the murmured words from Raleigh’s mouth, leaning more weight onto Chuck’s shoulder.

 

Chuck feels his spine straighten out and his body freeze up as if turned to stone, because what even. He is definitely not freaking out right now, he’s not. Raleigh fucking Becket is not fucking _cuddling_ into his shoulder at this second. Chuck’s waiting for the inevitable deck to his jaw or even a knee to his pelvis, but it never comes.

 

Raleigh’s not moving, though, part of his weight supported by Chuck’s shoulder and the other part just somehow still standing, because, the younger pilot realizes with another jolt, he seems to have passed out.

 

Raleigh’s asleep.

 

He’s asleep _standing up_ , albeit partly supported. There’s a moment where he sways dangerously, and Chuck, fearing he might fall (even if it would serve him right) grabs him around the waist to steady him.

 

Of course, that would be just when fucking Tendo walks by, hands full of documents. The other man stops on his heels, eyes wide open as he takes in the sight before him. It must paint an amusing picture, considering that earlier he’d seen the two of them beating up on each other.

 

“T-this isn’t what it looks like.” He sputters out, face suddenly on fire.

 

“Really? Because it looks like you two have gotten over your differences and are having a very intimate moment there.”

 

“He fell asleep like this!” Chuck stammers, ignoring the way his heart stutters when Raleigh’s breathe evens out, now well and truly dead to the world.

 

“Well, he’s not gonna stay asleep with you yelling like that.” A fond smile passes over Tendo’s face just then.

 

“He always was a light sleeper while Yancy was usually the one who would have slept all day if you’d let him, but there were days where he’d just pass out like this, too many nights all nighters in a row. Yance had to carry him back to their room once when he fell asleep face first into his cereal.” That’s not adorable, Chuck will never admit that to a single soul in the greater expanse of existence, before just what Tendo said catches up with the rest of his brain.

 

“Elvis, you want me to _carry_ him back to his room?” Tendo gives him a look, eyes trailing down the hall to where Raleigh’s room is.

 

“I don’t know if you’ve _looked_ at Rals recently,” And there’s another _look_ from Tendo himself, but Chuck ignores it, “but a particularly strong wind could probably knock him over if it was feeling ambitious.” And, fuck it, he’s right. This Raleigh Becket, while still solid and firm, is still so much slimmer than the bright eyed golden retriever Chuck remembers having photos of from five years ago. He’d felt it, too, how much Becket was really swimming in that sweater of his, his fist bunched up and feeling like there was _too much_ loose in his hands. It hadn’t felt _right._

 

The food they’d gotten wasn’t always _good_ , but the PPDC had at least fed them. But looking at Harley, who was perhaps on the smaller side for his age but still perfectly healthy, answered a few questions that no one had thought to ask.

 

“Well, it’s right over there. Not too far for someone with your _big, strong_ arms to carry him, right?” Tendo waggles his brows, a shit eating grin on his face as he points a few doors down. “I’ll get the door for you, but you have to get him there. And no dropping him, baby Hansen.” Chuck just scowls as Tendo makes his way back down the hall, propping the door open for them and then vanishing out of sight, chuckles echoing after him as he goes.

 

So.

 

Chuck spends a good three minutes trying to figure out the logistics of carrying the older, (only slightly) taller man back to his room. He eventually decides, _whatever, fuck it_ , and, in a parody of just about every boring romcom him and Mako had ever watched, somehow manages to hoist Becket up into a bridal carry. Somehow, the older pilot manages to stay asleep throughout all this, even though Chuck had very nearly dropped him at the beginning.

 

He’s so light, Chuck thinks somberly, not nearly as bulky as he used to be, his breath leaving him when Raleigh burrows his face into the crook of his neck, breathing deeply. Calmly, as if it’s soothing. Fuck, his face must be cherry red right now.

 

It only takes a few moments for him to get to Raleigh’s shared room with his son, and after somehow managing to not knock the older man’s legs into the doorway, makes his way over to the bed and sets him down.

 

Or rather, tries to, because just then, Raleigh’s arms wrap around his shoulders like a vice grip, trapping him in an odd bent position while he silently freaks the fuck out. He knows the younger Becket has the habit of becoming a barnacle on his father’s side, but Chuck didn’t think that was something he’d inherited from his father as well.

 

“Come on,” comes a sleepy voice, “Stay.”

 

He sounds so inviting, Chuck thinks; the adrenaline has bled away from him, the events of the day finally catching up to him. He’s not nearly as busted up as Raleigh, it seems, but it’s… tempting.

 

Before Chuck even has the option to voice his thoughts, Raleigh’s dead weight suddenly pulls him down, the already awkward angle his legs were bent at not giving him enough support. He does not shriek, but the sound that comes out of his mouth is practically inhuman.

 

Chuck doesn’t _move_. He can hear Raleigh’s breathing even out, arms still wrapped around him, and he feels like it lasts a thousand years, waiting for the other man to fall into a deep sleep.

 

It’s somewhat counterintuitive, because despite the adrenaline and sheer panic, staring at the lines that make up Raleigh’s face, plus the calming sound of his breathing ends up causing him to doze off lightly as well.

 

Fucking Raleigh Becket.

  


 

 

“Do you normally invite blokes into your bed when you don’t like men?” Chuck half whispers to him when he shakes himself back to awareness, trying not the freak out further. He gets an odd look, the older man’s eyes cracking open and staring at him long and hard while still only seeming half awake. It could be minutes or hours later, he wouldn’t know, though he figures he could be excused considering how blindsided he’d been when Raleigh had fallen asleep on his shoulder.

 

“What on earth makes you say that?” Chuck gives him an absolutely incredulous look; taking a tumble into the sheets with people who didn’t like him as a person wasn’t really anything new to him, but Raleigh especially had no reason to…

 

“You have a little sprog.” He just gets a raised eyebrow in response, before reiterating, “A kid.” Raleigh just waves a hand in his face, obviously only half aware of what he’s doing because one of his fingers grazes Chuck’s cheek, softly stroking the side of his face. It’s weird, and if Chuck had not been too busy mentally freaking out he’d probably be very turned on. He’s still kind of half turned on.

 

When Raleigh had pulled him down, he’d near ended up half on top of the other man, but they’d managed to rearrange themselves in their sleep to be laying side by side. Chuck’s not entirely sure how they managed that.

 

“He’s not mine, biologically.” The older man shifts forward, his face dangerously close to Chuck’s own, and the words ricochet through his skull like a stray bullet. “He’s my son but I didn’t… make him.”

 

Chuck can’t stop the flat _“What_.” that escapes his lips, trying not to find the way that Raleigh leans forward into his jacket again endearing or charming or anything at all, because not too long ago he was throwing punches Chuck’s way.

 

Not that, Chuck thinks, in a rare moment of introspection, he didn’t deserve it.

 

“Yancy did.” Raleigh murmurs. “He was Yancy’s.” He repeats, nuzzling further into Chuck’s side. It seems that he wants to be the little spoon in this situation, Chuck’s brain unhelpfully crows.

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

Chuck doesn’t usually feel repentant for being an asshole. He’s a ranger and he’s good at his fucking job, he feels like he’s sometimes allotted a free pass. But this is the second time in as many days where he’s felt like he’s made a truly outrageous mistake, and actually _feels bad_ about it.

 

“I… I didn’t know…” He says lamely, because of fucking course no one knew and only gets a warm face burrowed into the front of his jacket (like how Harley does to his own father) in response.

 

“No one did…” comes the quiet, murmured answer.

 

“He’s still mine though…”

 

“Yeah… I don’t think anyone’s gonna contest that, mate.” Whatever thoughts are going through his head then are instantly shunted out, because the door cracks open and light filters in, followed by whispering voices. Or rather, a child’s approximation of what whispering sounds like.

 

The dawning horror on his face doesn’t stop him from turning his head and staring at the door, meeting Mako’s very unamused and Harley’s surprised faces. The kid is already in his jammies, little footie pajamas that Chuck thinks are way too adorable to be coupled with that already considerable cuteness.

 

“Whatcha doin’?”

 

“We’re… having a slumber party.” He makes a mad grab for anything at the fringe of his mind, and the best he can come up with is _slumber party_? It seems to be the right thing to say, however, as Harley’s face suddenly lights up, and he’s close to bouncing on the balls of his feet at this point. Mako’s face takes on a whole new level of _100% done_ , and when Harley bounds over to the bed, Chuck mouths a soundless _OUR CLOTHES ARE STILL ON, THANK YOU VERY MUCH_ while making a rude gesture over Harley’s head at her. She just shakes her head in exasperation, before she points two fingers at her own eyes, and then back at him. That… is probably something she got from over the drift, he thinks miserably.

 

He doesn’t have much time to respond to anything else, because right then Harley’s tiny hands are reaching out to him, and it takes Chuck a moment to realize that he’s gesturing to be pulled up onto the bed. Looking back at Raleigh proves to be a useless venture, as the other man is blearily looking at him through half opened eyes. Meeting Mako’s gaze again, Chuck huffs a sigh, before hoisting Harley up onto the bed with them. She just shakes her head, rolling her eyes before quietly slipping out of the room. Chuck is already dreading the match in the Kwoon she’s probably formulating in her head.

 

Thoughts of escape dance through his mind but they’re dashed when Harley’s tiny starfish fingers clamp onto his jacket, small giggles escaping the happy child that is now laying on his chest. It’s not terribly comfortable, but Harley doesn’t weigh that much, and Chuck is having a hard time rationalizing anything to get the kid off of him. Raleigh’s eyes, when Chuck peers back at him, are slowly falling shut again, but there’s a fond smile on his lips as he looks at the two of them.

 

His damn heart feels like it’s going to burst, because even though Chuck knows that look is reserved for Harley, the fact that Raleigh’s still looking at him with it as well is… He’s going to keep that to himself, he thinks, cheeks warm.

 

“Oi, sprog, let me take off my jacket at least.” He says, realizing that he’s still wearing the bulky article of clothing; Chuck figures if he’s gonna be held captive for the night he might as well be comfortable. Harley sits up, letting him shuffle off the heavy jacket, and he catches the four year old’s eyes fall on the kaiju icons emblazoned on the back of it.

 

“Whassit for?” A tiny hand pokes one of the Kaiju heads, and Chuck flattens it out to give him a better view of it.

 

“How many of those big bast- _bad guys_ my old man and I have taken out.” He nearly slips up there, and he figures Raleigh wouldn’t like waking up to his son spouting off curses in the early morning. Harley tilts his head, perhaps in understanding or curiosity, Chuck isn’t experienced enough in the art of deciphering children to decide which.

 

“You gonna add more?” In reference to tonight, Chuck thinks, though he doesn’t know if the kid had been watching up in LOCCENT with the rest of them.

 

“That kill doesn’t belong to me, it should go to Mako and your old man.” It’s not a difficult admission to make, because it’s true, though he’ll be damned if he ever admits that _yes, that was me on top of Striker yelling KICK HIS ASS, GIPSY._

 

“Kay.” Harley just seems to accept it in the way that children do, before looking back up at him, big blue eyes seemingly piercing him to the bone.

 

“Were you scared?”

 

The memory of his father getting slammed into the side of the conn-pod, his arm now supported by a sling, flashes to the front of his mind, followed by the two of them standing atop Striker with flare guns at the ready (and really, it had been very stupid).

 

“Yeah.” He breathes out, “Yeah, I was pretty scared.”

 

“Even daddy gets scared sometimes.” It seems to be a child’s attempt at being comforting, he thinks. It strikes Chuck then that, while Harley isn’t the most vocal child he’s ever met (and it takes a moment of trying to catalogue how the few children he’d interacted with had chattered on and on and on about anything and everything), he’s rather eloquent when he does speak, mispronounced and mashed up words and all.

 

“Are _you_ scared?” He throws his jacket around Harley, the small child suddenly engulfed by it, eliciting a small shriek of glee from him.

 

“No!” It’s a loud whisper, and next to him, Raleigh barely budges, out like a light, his breathing calm. Chuck is starting to get a little (very) freaked out by how domestic this is starting to feel.

 

“And why not?”

 

“Cuz we have daddy and Mako and Herc and you and Marshall-” Evidently he doesn’t realize the Marshall’s name isn’t Marshall, “-and Sasha and Aleksis and the brothers-” Does he not need to stop to take a breath, Chuck wonders somewhat desperately.

 

“And everybody.” He takes a deep breath after that, blue eyes peeking out from beneath the jacket he’s pulled over his head like a hood. It must be nice to be able to still believe in those sorts of things, Chuck thinks.

 

“Yeah.” Chuck agrees, “Everyone is working hard.” He ruffles Harley’s hair like he remembers his dad doing to him when he’d been younger, and gets another giggle out of the kid.

 

“It’s time you got to sleep, you little gremlin.” Harley makes a small whining sound, but Chuck gives him a look with a raised brow, and surprisingly it seems to work, because the kid then slots himself in the space between himself and Raleigh, who’s still seemingly dead to the world. Chuck makes a move to leave, but one of Harley’s little hands grasps onto the edge of the his shirt.

 

“You gonna stay, right?” He doesn’t respond for a moment, but Harley goes on, “It’sa slumber party! Everyone’s gotta sleep, kay?”

 

Well, when one goes by that sort of logic.

 

Fuck it, Chuck thinks, falling back onto the mattress while listening to Harley’s gleeful laughter as he remains huddled under the sheepskin jacket; he probably gives in too easily, but he can’t stop a warm feeling spreading through him when he looks over and sees a few locks of blond hair peeking out from under his jacket, one small hand grasping the edge of Raleigh’s sweater, and the other still firmly gripped on his own shirt.

 

He can do this for one night.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Raleigh Becket wakes up with the knowledge that they’re strapping a bomb onto Striker Eureka’s back and are going to make a run on the breach. He wakes up with the knowledge that their chances are slim, but they have a chance.

 

They have a chance, but that also means the chance of failure is also a very vivid reality they might face.

  
  


Despite this, he feels near refreshed, looking over and spying Chuck, who’s still in the throes of a light slumber, Harley passed out on his chest. One of Chuck’s arms seemed to have snaked around him in their sleep, and Raleigh finds it curled protectively around him. He imagines, with a soft smile on his face, that the younger man will swear up and down that this never happened. Harley had thankfully given up sucking his thumb by this age, but his tiny fists remain balled, close to his lips. Chuck’s jacket is haphazardly thrown over the both of them, and, problems with the younger man aside, he tries to commit the image to memory.

 

It’s all he has left, at this point.

 

They look peaceful. Chuck’s face is near calm, not twisted into the usual scowl or grimace Raleigh has come to associate him with. It’s nice to know the younger man’s face isn’t perpetually stuck like that, he thinks with a small grin, brushing his hair back with his hand.

 

 _This could be the last time you see Harley like this_ , his mind whispers, his son’s laughter coming to mind.

 

He tries to slip off the bed undetected, but being trapped against the wall hinders his movement, enough where Chuck slowly comes back to the land of the living.

 

The two of them share a look for a moment, but for the most part, it’s surprisingly… not weird. Raleigh nods at him, gesturing towards Harley, still fast asleep, and Chuck carefully sits up, arms still around the kid pressed to his chest.

 

There’s something about the sight that makes Raleigh’s heart beat faster, for just a moment, but he pushes the thought out of his mind when Chuck tries to carefully disengage the firm grip Harley’s got on his shirt.

 

“Bit of a barnacle, isn’t he?” Chuck mentions, once they finally get the two of them detangled from one another; Harley somehow manages to stay asleep throughout the entire thing, now tucked into Raleigh’s arms.

 

“He’s always been like that, since he was a baby.” Raleigh answers, running a hand over the top of Harley’s head.

 

“Guess I now know where he got it from, then.” Chuck snarks back at him, but there’s no heat or sting to his words; if anything, they come across as more playful, and Raleigh ducks his head to hide the slight heat rising in his cheeks at that. Realistically, he probably could have handled the previous night with a bit more class than _falling asleep_ on a guy he’d punched in the face, but, well, he was gonna blame that one on the adrenaline draining from him.

 

They sit in silence for a few moments longer, before Chuck slowly rises off the bed, stretching out the kinks in his back. Raleigh spends maybe a little too long staring at the length of Chuck’s back, and the muscles in his arms for it to completely innocent, but he figures he’s allowed a few free passes here and there.

 

“Good luck out there, yeah?” Chuck speaks up, drawing Raleigh’s back to his face.

 

“Yeah… You too.”

 

“And for what it’s worth, Becket… I’m sorry.” Chuck looks _actually apologetic_ , which is somewhat impressive, all things considered. Raleigh doesn’t have the chance to respond before Chuck scratches the back of his head, and turns on his heel.

 

And then Chuck’s gone, his shoulders squared as he leaves the room.

 

It’s only a little while later that Raleigh realizes he’d left his jacket behind.

  
  
  


He sits there for a little bit, Harley’s evened out breathing against his chest a calming force on the maelstrom of thoughts swirling around in his skull. There’s a moment where his mouth goes dry, and he takes a deep breath, face hidden in his son’s hair.

 

He stares at the wall of photos he’s tacked to the small cork board in the room, losing himself in reverie for a second, before his thoughts are drawn back to what he needs to do.

 

He carefully wakes his son up, and goes to suit up.

  
  
  
  
  


“How long’re you gonna be gone?” Harley’s voice is small, quiet; everyone is rushing around and he doesn’t know why, doesn’t understand that this is the last drop, the _last one_. The Kaidonovskys had already offered to look after him during the duration of the drop, Cherno too badly damaged to even go back out into the water so soon after the last battle.

 

Typhoon will be taking the drop with them, but the Jaeger is already on it’s last legs, and there’s a rather high chance it won’t survive a direct hit from either of the cat IV’s waiting for them in the abyss. Still, three jaegers is better than two, they think.

 

“I… Don’t know. I’ll try to be back soon, yeah?” He doesn’t want to lie, he doesn’t want to, but there isn’t enough time to explain to Harley _What if Daddy doesn’t come back_. He’s already spoken to Tendo on the matter, thoughts swirling in his head that he doesn’t want to dwell on.

 

It’s a truly herculean effort to let go of his son, when he picks him up in a tight, firm hug. Harley doesn’t seem to fully understand the magnitude of the situation, but he hugs back with all the strength a four year old can muster. It’s then that Harley’s tiny fingers find their way to either side of his face, and Raleigh lets his son’s hands guide his eyes.

 

“Daddy. I love you lots, kay?” He says seriously, or as seriously as a child can say.

 

“I know, buddy. Daddy loves you more than anything.” He lays a soft kiss on Harley’s forehead, before his eyes catch the Kaidonovsky’s waiting down the hall. The two of them nod at him, a serious expression on their faces, softening only when Harley looks up at them as well.

 

“Be good for them, okay?” He used to end _be good for the babysitter_ with comments like _Jaz will know,_ but it doesn’t seem applicable or even appropriate anymore. Mini-Gipsy and Striker had been shoved into a tiny backpack someone up in LOCCENT had rustled up for him, and Raleigh can feel their soft weight on Harley’s back as his son peers back him through thick lashed eyes.

 

The one thing he’d gotten from Denise, to be honest.

 

“I will.”

 

“Promise?” He’s dragging this out farther than it ought to go, and he knows it’s just a tortuous experience the longer he draws it out, harder and harder to let go of his son.

 

“Promise!” Harley’s _r’s_ still sound like _w’s_ , and it’s hard for Raleigh not to entertain thoughts of _Will I be back to hear him learn new words_ before he banishes them to the back of his mind, because they have a chance, they do.

 

He hands Harley off to Sasha, her strong arms supporting him fully. Raleigh nods at her again, taking note of the few bandages and bruises apparent on her face. They’d manage to get out of their Jaeger alive, miraculously, despite Cherno not supporting escape pods, but not without a few bumps and bruises here and there.

 

He eventually manages to pull himself away, looking back once he reaches Mako at the end of the hall. The last the the two of them see as the doors roll shut behind them is Harley waving at them, a small smile on his face.

  
  
  
  


He catches Chuck in the hallway, both of them heading off to their respective Jaegers. Mako’s headed off for a final moment with the Marshall, something that Raleigh thinks they all need. There are words unsaid, he thinks, that should stay between them, even though he’ll probably end up seeing it in the drift later.

 

“You’re still an asshole.” He affirms; the events from the night before notwithstanding, he still hasn’t forgotten what Chuck had said. Chuck nods at that, acknowledging it for what it is.

 

“And you’re still a washed out has-been.” Chuck responds, a tense, concentrated look on his face; there’s no bite to his words, however, as if all the fight has been stolen from him. Raleigh wonders if he’s spoken to Herc yet; there’s a thought that flits through his head, momentarily, if their places had been reversed. Harley, at 20 years old, being sent off to detonate a bomb at the bottom of the ocean, and Raleigh, having to let him go to do so.

 

Raleigh Becket doesn’t envy Hercules Hansen one bit.

  


Chuck pauses, his eyes trailing down the other man’s arm, the one damaged so many years before, scars hidden underneath his drive suit. After a moment of hesitation, he claps a hand on Raleigh’s right shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

 

“You’re gonna come back for that kid of yours.” Their eyes don’t meet, because Chuck thinks he’s going to do something really stupid if they do. Out of the corner of his vision he sees a slow nod in return, the hint of a smile on those infuriating lips.

 

“And you’re gonna come back for that father of yours.” It seems like Raleigh wants to say more, a moments hesitation apparent in his stance, but he just finishes with that, nodding once more.

 

Chuck wonders which of them is going to end up being a liar.

  
  


In another universe, at another time, only two Jaegers go down, and two pilots come back up.

 

As it stands, they go down with three functional Jaegers, though Typhoon has to eject early, managing to get a few good blows in on Raiju before Gipsy takes it down.

 

But some things don’t change; Gipsy is still down one right arm and a barely functioning leg, still jumps into the Anteverse holding a Kaiju corpse, and Striker still has to manually detonate.

 

There are some things that remain a fixed point, regardless.

  
  
  


An escape pod bubbles to the surface, after everything is near done and over. The release hatches are near melted shut, the release catching on the edge of the pod. It takes the combined efforts of the two of them, frantic and desperate, to peel off the escape hatch and get at the man lying beneath.

 

Chuck doesn’t have enough time to think about how Pentecost had ejected him from Striker, thoughts of _You don’t leave your copilot behind_ dashed from his mind as he and Mako try to pull Raleigh from the battered mess that is the inside of his escape pod. There’s a low moan of pain from the the other man as his glassy, unfocused eyes take in the two of them, their faces plain with a mixture of panic and relief that he’s even _alive._

 

 _He’s still awake,_ Chuck’s mind screams, _he’s still breathing,_ but the thoughts turns to horror, taking in the state of the other man while Mako shouts over the comms for a med team. There’s blood, and the problem arises when Chuck can’t figure out _where_ it’s coming from; most of Raleigh’s injuries are seemingly hidden under the drive suit, and until they get a chopper out there to whisk them back to the dome, there’s no way for him or Mako to fully dissect the true extent of the injuries.

 

He can see the Wei Tangs shouting to them in the distance, their pods having resurfaced quite a ways off, and Chuck can’t help let a spark of relief flow through him, the thought _we’re somehow all alive, most of us are still here,_ the Marshall's face darting through his head, before his attention is pulled back to Raleigh.

 

Raleigh, who’s gasping for breath, one of his hands grasped around Chuck’s wrist like it’s his last lifeline. The last thing Chuck hears Raleigh murmur before he falls unconscious, breath short as if he’s having a hard time breathing (and that’s not good, it’s not good at all), is his son’s name, lost on his lips as awareness fades away from him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~SORRY NOT SORRY GUYS~~


	8. Home Movies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. Also this chapter is horribly un-beta'd so I apologize for that, I'll give it a much better scour once I'm more coherent. Hope everyone had a great holiday!

 

 

There’s panic underneath the widespread celebration.

 

Or rather, panic in Chuck’s mind, because yeah, they’d averted the apocalypse, and everyone is celebrating and all, but Raleigh Becket is in a medically induced coma and his four year old son is asking Chuck where his father is, and Chuck _doesn’t know how to answer him._

 

They’d gathered him from the Kaidonovskys after all but escaping from medical (with nary a few bumps and scratches themselves, but _Ranger Becket is in critical condition, he needs to go into surgery immediately_ ) and they’d found themselves sitting in Raleigh’s room, trying to figure out what to say. Of course the first thing Harley does is turn those big blue doe eyes on him and ask him in the most horribly worried voice _Where’s my daddy?_

 

Over Harley’s head, he sees the same panic flash in Mako’s eyes, and all he can think is oh fuck me what do I say? Chuck hasn’t trained for this, but some part of him understands that trying to surgarcoat things with children isn’t always the best way for them to play out.

 

“He’s… he’s with the doctor right now.” Chuck sees something flash in Mako’s eyes then, but his attention is solely on Harley, who’s seemingly piecing it all together.

 

“Is… is daddy sick?”

 

“Ye-ah, he just needs to see the doctor for a little bit.” Chuck realizes the words that come out of his mouth are a mistake approximately 3 seconds after they leave him, because Harley’s face suddenly goes through an array of emotions that guts his heart before shattering it. The kid blinks a few times, a slow realization blooming across his features before his cheeks scrunch up and he starts to shake.

 

Then he starts _crying._

 

Not just the regular tears that Chuck has seen a child here and there throw during tantrums, but loud, awful sobs that make his tiny body shudder horribly. They’re loud, bouncing off the walls and causing at least few people out in the hall to stop. They echo through Chuck’s ears like a nightmarish sound, ripping at his heart while wondering _why is he crying like this_? Fat tears roll down Harley’s now ruddy cheeks in rivulets, and Chuck feels even more panic course through him then, because of fucking course he’s made the younger Becket cry _again._

 

What he does next surprises himself; he rushes forward, scooping Harley up in his arms (though not as gracefully or well practiced as Raleigh would have, probably) and lays one calloused hand on the back of the child’s head, trying to do as he’d seen Raleigh do before. Harley slots against him instantly, face hidden in the crook of his neck, huge sobs racking his tiny frame as his small fingers grasp tightly at Chuck’s shirt.

 

“Hey, hey, shh, it’s alright, kiddo. Your dad’s fine, yeah?” He murmurs, running a hand through Harley’s hair softly, an echo of what he’s seen Raleigh do and realizing he is _so unprepared for this._

He shoots a desperate glance at Mako then, Harley’s crying somewhat muffled by his face hidden into Chuck’s neck; Mako’s the one who’s been in Raleigh’s head, she might know something about this.

 

At the pained, sorrow struck look on her face, he figures she does.

 

“Harley…” She starts, placing a gentle hand on his back. Somewhere in the back of his mind Chuck wonders what they must look like, man, woman, and child all sequestered near each other.

 

“Your father is not sick. He’s just…” She pauses, trying to search for the right word. Chuck notes the special emphasis she puts on _sick_ , and wonders why that word in particular is what set off the water works.

 

“He’s hurt. He will get better. But he needs to rest for now.” Chuck wonders if a four year old actually knows the difference between _sick_ and _hurt_ , but the important thing is that it seems to work. Harley sniffs into his shoulder, and the loud sobs devolve into soft hiccups, and Chuck has never felt as helpless as he’s feeling now.

 

He’s foughts monsters from the very depths of the ocean, stared down literal death, and probably cheated said death more than he’s had any right to, but a child crying has him grasping at straws and completely off his game.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

“She was sick.” Mako says quietly, later, turning something over in her hands. It takes Chuck a moment to recognize it for what it is; a camera, paint faded and covered in stickers. There’s also a tablet sitting next to her, but Chuck pays it no mind.

 

“Who?” Harley had eventually tired himself out, hiccuping and wiping at his face before letting Chuck tuck him into Raleigh’s bed but refusing to let go of Chuck’s shirt until he’d fallen asleep. Mako sat the foot of the bed, looking at the two of them with an exhausted look on her face.

 

It was hard to believe they’d just dropped into the breach maybe 12 hours before. Chuck suddenly felt the exhaustion plain on Mako’s face in his own bones, and he lets one hand sluggishly card through Harley’s hair. The kid’s cheeks are still slightly red from his loud teary meltdown, but he looks more calm now, at least.

 

“Raleigh’s sister. She was sick.” She pauses, “She went on a trip, it was… something in the water, Kaiju Blue poisoning.” Chuck turns to her, and sees that she’s holding out the camera to him, offering it.

 

“She passed away three months ago. Harley still remembers. Raleigh just told him that _she was sick_ , and that she had to go to the hospital. And one day, she did not come home.” Chuck’s mouth makes a small o of realization, and he lets a deep breath escape him. It must have hurt for her to say it, because Mako had been in his head, had re-lived the pain of not only losing her parents, but Yancy, and then this...

 

“Harley asked me to fix this. It belonged to her. I think… I think it would be good if he had the chance to look through all of the photos. I backed up everything onto the tablet for easier viewing,” and she gives him an odd look there, “but Harley is fond of this camera.”

 

“Why are you giving this to me?”

 

“I think Harley will like something familiar when he wakes up.” Mako smiles at him in a way that he hasn’t seen her send his way in years, and his heart clenches painfully at the thought.

 

“You seem to have already made the unspoken decision to look after him until Raleigh wakes up.” That she says _until_ instead of _If_ suddenly sobers the mood again.

 

“When did we decide on this?” Mako just raises a brow at him, and he flushes then; okay, so maybe it was a little true that he’d basically whisked Harley away before anyone could say anything, but that didn’t mean…

 

He sighs, loudly, and Mako just smiles at him, patting his shoulder comfortingly. He suddenly feels 15 again, back the Jaeger academy, for reasons he can’t explain.

 

“Am I doomed?” He murmurs, taking the camera from her hands and thumbing at a faded Striker Eureka sticker on it.

 

“Maybe a little. But I think you’ll be okay.” She says softly, her voice a soothing balm to his ears.

  
  
  
  


  
  


 

 

 

Harley wakes up groggy and quiet, but the moment Chuck shows him the camera he acts as though Christmas has just come again, and Chuck barely manages to get him dressed before he darts off across the hall to Mako’s room to chatter _thank you_ and _I love you_ and _Daddy will be so happy!_ at her. It gives him a moment of muted silence, Harley seemingly engrossed with whatever Mako is doing to entertain him now; Chuck’s fingers find the tablet sitting on the edge of the bed, filled with literally thousands of photos that make his heart clench tightly.

 

It's good, he thinks, that the kid doesn't know the full extent of how bad off his father is, but there's still a quietness to him that Chuck senses, and sends off a greatful prayer to Mako for entertaining him for the moment while Chuck tries to regain his thoughts. Going through old family photos, as fucked up as that is, seems to help.

 

Chuck’s already sort of looked through a few of them, the not entirely explicit permission from Mako still ringing through his head. They were mostly things that were just Harley growing up, from an infant to a toddler and to now, an always smiling and happy child.

 

And then there were the videos.

 

Some were esoterically titled, others not, though Chuck couldn’t find it in himself to watch most of them once he’d realized that everything on the memory card was everything. There were videos that had to have been taken through a phone camera and transferred, and others that Chuck just… couldn’t bring himself to watch. That was another person’s life he had to right to.

 

There were a few, however, that Chuck had clicked, either because the dates didn’t match up or just… okay, he was partially lured in by a tiny icon that looked like it had a shirtless Raleigh Becket on it.

 

And lo and behold, shirtless Raleigh Becket. Very young shirtless Raleigh Becket, back in what must have been the Anchorage Shatterdome, smiling at the camera with a smile that Chuck has only seen a ghost of. He wonders if he should stop feeling like just an asshole and just start feeling like an asshole pervert instead.

 

 _“Well, we’re finally all set up here in our fancy new dorm, PPDC style; is this what college must feel like? Don’t answer that.”_ Raleigh from at least five years ago grins at the camera, though Chuck’s not sure if it’s just a cell phone or actual camera he’s using, because the quality is so-so. He looks so _young,_ Chuck thinks with a sad pang in his heart, less worn and more robust. _Healthier._

 

 _“Yancy got the top bunk, we rock-paper-scissor’d over it but I’m pretty sure he cheated. Us being in each other’s head isn’t gonna end well, hah. Let me give you the grand tour of our humble abode.”_ The ‘grand tour’ turns out to be a quick sweep of the room with the phone camera; as the room is about the size of a generous closet, it doesn’t take long.

 

 _“Well, I mean… that’s it. Maybe it really is like a college dorm. Eh, whatever. Yancy’s out on a date with that crazy chick who decked him in the gut,”_ He laughs, and it’s a good, warm sound, _“true love, right? I’ll tell him to call you later. Miss you, love you, see you later, Jazzy.”_ He smiles at the camera, before the screen blinks out to black.

 

_Love you, I’ll see you later._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

“What ‘bout a story?” It’s been a week and Harley’s been mostly quiet, though the other pilots do help; the Kaidonovskys take him for a few hours of the day, and the Weis do some good amusing him, though once in a while he frustrates Chuck to no end with his incessant questions. _It’s just how children are_ , his dad tells him softly while ruffling Harley’s hair, something that Chuck is still figuring out on his own.

 

Like the time he’d asked Chuck _why are you so mean to my daddy_ and Chuck had just sat there, completely silent, before stammering some pathetic apology. Harley had just looked at him and then firmly patted his hand before announcing, _s’long as you say sorry, kay?_

 

“Story?” He repeats dumbly. Harley looks at him like he’s lost his mind, which, for a four year old, is a pretty impressive look to throw at a guy who makes a living making faces like that.

 

“You gots to have a bedtime story, Chuck.” He says, as if Chuck is slow.

 

Chuck resists the urge to point out that Harley didn’t need a bedtime story the first time they’d had a _slumber party,_ but the earnest, confused look on the kid’s face stills his tongue.

 

“I… don’t know any.” He bites out, feeling rather embarrassed then.

 

“Oh.” Harley’s quiet for a moment, before piping up again, whispering to Chuck as if it’s a secret that Chuck had a shitty childhood and doesn’t know any damn bedtime stories, “I can tell you some, and, and then you can tell me some later.”

 

Chuck nods, suddenly feeling like an absolute idiot as Harley launches into an admittedly familiar tale about sea monsters.

  
  
  


“He wanted a bedtime story.” The way Chuck says it seems to phrase it more as a question than a comment, and Herc hums in acquiescence. His father had brought down dinner for him, which was nice, considering the first day Raleigh had shown up he’d given Chuck’s lunch away, so he supposed this was an indirect apology for that. Also as a thank you for looking after this small child while the rest of us run around like chickens with our heads cut off, also, being the Marshall sucks bollocks.

 

“You used to be wild about those when you were a little sprog, not surprising.” Herc smiles at him, face pulled into a fond, nostalgic smile that Chuck hasn’t seen his dad wear in a long time. They’re standing outside of Raleigh’s room (which Chuck has temporarily taken command of, partially because Harley’s stuff is still there and because Mako is across the hall) as Harley sleeps, voices held low as they converse in the hall.

 

“I don’t remember any stories.” Chuck grouses, cocking a brow; his father nods thoughtfully, handing off a plate of hot food to him, tossing over a fork after.

 

“I don’t think you would. You stopped asking for them when you turned 6… you were a stubborn little tyke, all _I’m not afraid of the dark_ and _I’m not a baby, I don’t need no bedtime stories_.” Despite his words, there’s something in his dad’s tone that makes Chuck pause before digging into his meal.

 

“You told me stories?” Now that he says it, there’s a small place in the back of his head that’s telling him, yes, that did happen, but it’s too long gone for him to really be able to go back to it.

 

“I did, your mum… that was the one thing you came to me for. Mostly heavily edited stuff I hacked together for you to listen to, but you liked the ones about knights and dragons best.” Herc smiles at him, and there’s something in his eyes that Chuck doesn’t want to dissect, because it reminds him of when they talked before he went down into the breach, when he thought he was going to die, and his throat suddenly closes up, unable to respond with anything intelligent.

 

Sometimes Chuck wishes they both weren’t so terrible at feelings, but he wants to think that they’re getting better at it. His dad relates a few short tales for him to retell to Harley when the need arises, before running back to his new Marshall duties, and Chuck finds himself staring off after Herc as he strides away.

 

Harley’s still asleep when Chuck goes back to him; Chuck peers down at him for a few moments, noting Gipsy and Striker curled in the child’s grasp. He smiles when he sees Max sleeping by Harley’s feet, snoring slightly, before picking up the discarded tablet and leafing through some other pictures.

 

He feels like an actual asshole for going through these, because they’re personal and it’s not like Raleigh gave him _permission,_ but he feels like he needs something to occupy his time while waiting for the other man to wake up. And then what, he thinks sardonically to himself, is going to happen? It wasn’t as though they’d liked each other that much, slumber party notwithstanding.

 

Going through them with Harley seemed to help the kid, however, as he’d point at various baby photos and _ask Is that me? I’m so small!_ and Chuck would feel his damn heart grow in size or something equally sappy.

 

The shirtless photos of a much younger Raleigh holding a baby were also things that Chuck was going to carry with him to grave of _Things that make me happy but I am never telling anyone ever._

 

The videos are a different story, however, bar one of Harley’s first birthday party.

 

There’s one video simply marked _Untitled, february 28, 2:34 am_. There’s something about the date that sticks out in Chuck’s mind, but he can’t place it.

 

Chuck shouldn’t be fucking watching these, but he flips through them, his heart aching in discomfort at each one. This one, he realizes with a jolt, isn’t of Raleigh. His heart constricts uncomfortably at the image of Yancy Becket’s face appearing on the tablet screen, sleepy grin and all.

 

 _“Has Raleigh been putting you up to this, harassing me in middle of the night? It can’t be that late where you are right now.”_ He looks so tired, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He makes a show of yawning loudly, before blinking a few times, a wry smile on his face that looks like one of Raleigh’s.

 

 _“He already gave you the tour, what else do you want? Girlfriend? Oh, you mean… naw, she’s not…”_ He gets a dopey look on his face then. _“Not really my girlfriend. She’s… a friend. Who’s a girl. Why does that have to be a big deal?”_ An odd look crosses his face then, his brows furrowed in confusion.

 

Harley really does look a lot like him, Chuck muses, forlorn.

 

 _“Oh, shit, Raleigh told you about the baby, didn’t he? No wonder you’re calling me at ass o’ clock in the morning.”_ He lets his head fall onto his pillow.

 

 _“I’ll tell you more in the morning after you let me actually get some shut eye. Shouldn’t you be studying right now anyway, brat?”_ He smiles wryly at the camera, waggling a finger. The video apparently hadn’t recorded the voice of whoever else was talking, because Yancy nods then, answering someone Chuck can’t hear.

 

 _“Fine, fine, I’ll talk to you later. I promise I'll give you all the details, whatever that means. Much love, miss you, see you later, Jazmine.”_ The video pauses on Yancy Becket’s tired grin, before fading out. There’s a bolt of ice that goes up Chuck’s spine when he realizes why the date is significant.

 

It was the day before Knifehead.

 

_I miss you._

  
  
  
  


 

 

 

There’s a random one he accidentally clicks on, though it doesn’t make much sense.

 

 _“You should really be resting.”_ There’s Raleigh, much more recent and familiar looking to Chuck now. It has to be very recent, he realizes with a furrow in his brows.

 

 _“You kidding me? I have to document our lives, in case you haven’t forgotten. A camera woman’s job is never done.”_ There’s a voice from off screen, and after a second it registers to Chuck that it’s whoever’s holding the camera.

 

_“That’s creepy and invasive and if you weren’t my sister, I would probably break your camera.”_

 

_“Touch my camera and die, you waxed yeti.”_

 

 _“Yeah, yeah.”_ He looks away from whatever he’s knitting at the moment, something blue and grey, before his eyes turn back to the camera. “ _We do need to go back to the hospital soon, though.”_

 

 _“Over my dead body.”_ Comes the snapped response.

 

 _“Don’t. Don’t say things like that.”_  He looks at the camera, at whoever’s recording, expression dead serious and tinged with guilt. There’s a small sigh off screen, before the screen fades out again. Chuck’s heart sinks with each consecutively dated video or photo he finds, and he’s beginning to understand why.

 

He leafs through a few more baby photos, stumbling upon one that’s Raleigh holding a very small baby with his arm in a sling that makes his stomach do flip flops that are decidedly not very manly, before he stumbles to the end. There’s only one video left.

 

The last video, Chuck realizes with a sharp breath, is dated about three months previous. His finger hovers over the icon for a moment, debating what to do next.

 

“You can beat my ass over this once you wake up, Becket.” Chuck mumbles to himself as he clicks it. He’s a horrible ass and he knows it especially now.

 

There’s some shuffling with the camera once it starts playing, the girl fiddling with it apparently trying to find a good angle to set it down. That, Chuck realizes suddenly, eyes wide, must be Jazmine. It's odd that only now he's seeing her for the first time, looking so much like her brothers, before the thought hits him that  _someone had to take all those pictures._

 

 _“Okay, just, fuck. I already fucked this up like three times already, so whatever. Hey, Rals.”_ She starts, clapping her hands together mutely, but the smile on her face is tired, and she looks weak, sick, her skin pale and her hair lying limply at the sides of her skull.

 

 _“I’m sure I look pretty fabulous right now,”_ she twirls a faded lock of hair between her fingers, before letting it fall limply. _“I’m not really sure where to start here, so…”_

 

 _“I just... I'm sorry, for all the yelling and the arguments and the fighting... I was just so scared. I didn't want Harley to see me like that, I didn't want his last memories of me to be... so weak. But I guess I fucked that up and made it worse, huh?”_ She smiles, but it's a pained one and it looks more like a grimace. Her face is sallow and her cheeks sunken in, her skin stretched over her bones like a skeleton.

 

_“I know you worry about it, that you're doing a bad job and are probably going to mess him up forever or something, but Rals... you're doing a fantastic job at being a father; Harley's a great kid, and he loves you more than anything in the world. Better than I ever would have done, and I'm sorry for not being as supportive as I should have been. Yancy would be so proud of you, I know that for a fact.”_

 

She pauses.

 

 _“I don't want to go. I'm so selfish,”_ and here, she looks away, her eyes rimmed red with tears ready to fall. _“I don't want to die. I don't want to leave you and Harley. I want to get up tomorrow and the next day and into the next week after that, I wanna be there for Harley's first day of school and his graduation,”_ She laughs here, _“and even that pretend wedding for you we always joked about... I don't want to just... disappear. I don't want to just be a faint memory. That's so selfish and spiteful of me, I know, that I don't want to be forgotten, but I don't want you to torture yourself over it, like how you did after Yancy and Denise died.”_

 

 _“You are so unequivocally good, you know that? You are good to Harley, and you were good to me, especially when I didn't deserve it, and I want you to find someone who will be just as good to you and love you like you deserve to be loved.”_ She wipes at her face, unable to hide the fat tears falling freely now, before looking back up again.

 

_“Tell Harley I love him, and to be good. I guess I won’t be seeing you later, but...”_

 

 _“Be good to yourself, Raleigh. You are a good person, and I love you, but this isn't the life I wanted for you. I'll miss you.”_ The smile is genuine this time, fond and sorrowful and so loving it hurts.

 

_“Goodbye.”_

 

She’s still smiling when the video blips out, a memory flashing away.

  


Chuck feels sick, staring at the tablet in silence; there are no more videos after that one, and he’s half glad for that, because any more he could not handle. Here he is, peering in through a window into someone else's life that he has no right to, half falling in love with a man who can't stand him and might not be the same after he wakes up. 

 

 

 

 

He’s not sure how long he sits there before Mako quietly knocks on the door, and tells him they’re waking Raleigh up tomorrow.

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

He wonders if he's dead. This isn’t a new thought, he muses.

 

If so, death feels an awful lot like a fuzzy dream, the corners of his vision soft and warm. Maybe Heaven, if he’d still believed in that sort of thing.

 

When his sister suddenly appears, camera in hand as if it belongs there, he makes a face.

 

“Never mind, I must be in Hell.” She laughs at this; her hair is dyed an old shade of blue that has her pegged at about two years ago; she'd always been pissed off because the blue had usually washed out fairly quickly. Back when things were explicitly better, maybe.

 

“Naw, just probably maybe brain dead.” She retorts slyly. It's not that he's never dreamed of his siblings before (Yancy was a common figure in his nightmares), but this is probably the first time that the figment of his imagination has been so catty with him. Usually there's just a lot of screaming.

 

“Where am I?”

 

“You, brother dear, are currently in the whacky limbo we here in your subconscious like to call a 'medically induced coma'. At least, I hope it's medically induced, 'cause if it's from oxygen deprivation, then that's too bad, because you barely have enough brain cells left in there, Rals.” She supplies, marginally helpful while tapping her skull. Maybe it's the weird dreamy haze or the the probable fuck ton of painkillers they have him dosed with if what imaginary Jaz says is true, but he just nods as if that answers everything.

 

He wants to ask if Yancy is hiding out somewhere in here, but before he chance to even phrase the thought into words his brother appears out of nowhere, still dressed in his drivesuit from the day that Raleigh had lost him, helmet in hand.

 

It’s as if he never left. Make believe Yancy looks as though he wants to speak, but Raleigh’s been through this rodeo before. Several times, in the confines of his nightmares.

 

“I know what you're gonna say-”

 

“Of course you do, I'm in your head, kid.”

 

“I just... I mean, if you try to encourage me or tell me I'm doing great or whatever, that's just me trying to make myself feel better, right?” He bites out breathlessly, and Yance just sends a long suffering look his way.

 

“Kid, we were actually in each other's heads; you knew me better than I knew myself, and I knew things about my baby brother I didn't really need to know about.” He’s probably… definitely talking about the whole _Too much fucking information_ debacle their first drift had turned into. At the time, Yancy definitely hadn’t been prepared to see images of his little brother going down on some other guy. Or that their sister had known first. At this, Raleigh sends a pleading look over to Jaz, who grins unhelpfully.

 

“Oh, no, Yance here is probably a ghost or something; I'm just an oddly self aware figment of your imagination.” As if that even remotely answers anything.

 

“And you’re, what, here to tell that I’m doing a great job and _don’t give up!_ or something?” Yance just sighs, a long beleaguered sound that Raleigh would know anywhere.

 

“You're not fucking Harley up. I think you're doing a pretty good job, to be honest.” Yancy intoned softly, in that way he'd always do when Raleigh was upset and neither of them were ever really sure why.

 

“But you saying it is just me thinking it.” He doesn't know why he's arguing with manifestations of his subconscious, but a psychiatrist would have a field day with him.

 

“Why do you think I wouldn't say this?” And that makes him stop, looking into his brother’s eyes, so serious suddenly. Because it's true. They’d spent years melding into one being, fighting together and against the Kaiju. Yancy is ingrained into his brain as much as he was into his brother’s.

 

Seeing Jaz and Yance standing next to each other also changes the perspective a bit when he looks a little closer; he swears that Jaz's hair was that shade of blue but with a sinking feeling he realizes it’s closer to what color Mako’s highlights are, and there are parts of her that look as if they can’t decide on what they want to look like, from the patch of her jacket to whether she’s wearing sandals or tennis shoes. But Yancy is a crisp vision, armor and helmet ingrained into his memory. He doesn’t think about why he remembers Yancy better, because memories can lie, they are _not finite_ and perfect, and god knows that he can't count on his memory, not anymore.

 

His sister is blurred at the edges. His brother is clear and unclouded. Raleigh despairs at the thought of his memory failing him like this, at the fear of what has been burned into his brain.

 

Jaz had been someone he'd seen every day for the past four years. Yancy's been dead for five.

 

“It's okay if you don't remember the details.” Jaz says softly, and he wants to yell back at her that no, it's not, I promised I wouldn't forget, but he knows it's a useless endeavor. The two of them smile at him, subdued in their own ways, Yancy firm but fond and Jaz grinning slyly. His heart is suddenly filled with longing and the need to reach out to them, even though they’re not actually there.

 

They’re not fucking _real_ , it’s just his mind playing tricks on him. But as where he could write Jaz off as a particularly snarky manifestation of his mind (and she sticks her tongue at him when the thought passes through his head, proving his point), Yancy just seems so solid, his body firm and unchanging with all of the little imperfections that Raleigh remembers etched into his armor.

 

He misses them so much, goddamnit. He misses the way Jaz and him would poke fun at each other, he misses Yancy and the stupid top bunk that they’d fought over, he misses his siblings.

 

He yearns for the nights when the three of them would sit under the stars and try to find the constellations they’d learned about from Raleigh’s tattered astronomy book, arguing over what stars formed which constellation and which one was the best. Times when mom and dad weren’t distant memories.  But those days are long past now, it seems.

 

“You've got to wake up, you know. There's a little boy waiting up there for you to come back.”

 

“Yeah, plus that adorable, angry ginger boyfriend of yours.” Jaz adds with a shit-eating grin on her face.

 

“He's not my-”

 

“I'm saying it, so that means _you're_ thinking it, right?” He has nothing to say to that, wisely keeping his mouth shut. Jaz smiles cattily at him with Yancy giving a small wave next to her with a fond smile on his face. He’s not wearing the drive suit suddenly, dressed in his civvies and the bomber jacket that Raleigh remembers him tolerating for PR’s sake.

 

“Remember what the Marshall said?”

 

“You can always find us here.”

 

He’s not sure who says what, their voices mixing now. The only separation now is _him_ and _them_ , because they’re gone and he’s still here. They’re in different places now, and he’s unable to reach them anymore.

 

This is goodbye, he thinks desperately, his mind suddenly filling with panic at the thought of losing them again, but his mouth won’t work, the words _won’t come out_ as if they’ve been stolen from his lips.

 

But it seems these apparitions already know what he wants to say, and they just smile at him, perfect echoes of real life. Jaz raises her camera in a familiar motion, and the look on Yancy’s face is impossibly fond and filled with longing.

 

“See you on the flip side, kiddo.”

 

“Smile, Rals!”

 

He hears a shutter click, and the world goes white.

 

_When you wake up, please don't forget what I said._

  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

His throat feels dry. He coughs weakly, twitching a finger, then his other hand. At least he can feel both hands, he thinks somewhat deliriously. There’s a few moments of darkness that nearly sends him into a quiet panic but then he realizes that he simply hasn’t opened his eyes.

 

When Raleigh blinks blearily, he looks over to the right, to the blurry forms to the side. They slowly shift into focus, little by little, but if he wasn’t aching so much he’d be smiling widely at what he’s seeing.

 

Chuck Hansen is slumped over in a not terribly comfortable looking hospital chair, though what widens the already tiring smile on Raleigh’s face is Harley, tucked up against his chest, covered by Chuck’s jacket.

 

He chuckles, but the sound comes out slightly pained. Enough to wake Chuck from his momentary slumber, it seems.

 

“Hey.” Chuck murmurs, near wide awake almost instantly. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, blinking his eyes wide open. It seems like there's more he wants to say, but instead he offers Raleigh a glass of water with a straw in it. Thank  _god._

 

“Hey...” He responds weakly, a tired smile crossing his lips; christ, he feels like he's been run over by a truck, and then had it back up over him. Chuck lets out a deep breath, of relief or what, he's not sure. He looks so _relieved_ , like a gargantuan weight has been lifted off his chest, and if Raleigh weren't so fuzzy from the painkillers still he'd probably be touched by that.

 

“You look like shit, mate."

 

“You look… alright.” Chuck huffs a smile at that, before gently shaking Harley awake. Harley, who nearly shrieks in joy when he sees that Raleigh’s awake, near apopletic with happiness.

 

“Had to get permission from the nurses before they said it was okay if…” Chuck trails off when Harley clambers into the hospital bed, slotting himself against Raleigh’s side, though Chuck has to help him up in a way that won’t put too much pressure on Raleigh’s battered ribs. Harley then softly kisses his father’s cheek, before snuggling against Raleigh’s side again. Raleigh's having a hard time not returning the sentiment, because his ribs feel tight and his body isn't entirely back in working order yet, but he can at least card a bandaged hand through Harley's hair softly, a shuddered sigh leaving his lips.

 

“We needa kiss all the ouchies away.” His son supplies, as if it should be obvious.

 

“I think there’s a bit too many of those on me, kiddo.” Harley just sniffs, cuddling into Raleigh’s side, a worried look on his face when his dad breaths in sharply.

 

“Chuck can help.” Raleigh’s eyes, glassy but aware, roll over to land on him, and there’s another wry grin on his lips. One that Chuck recognizes from a video from another lifetime.

 

“You gonna give me a kiss too?” He murmurs, voice clearer now.

 

“I don’t know where I’d even begin, mate.” Raleigh, thankfully, doesn’t have any life threatening injuries, and past that first, nail biting surgery, was cleared out of _in danger of dying fucking immediately_ , but he was still covered in bandages, bruises and cuts littering his entire body.

 

“You can start, ah…” There’s a slight wince on his features as he makes the attempt to move his hand, but then a finger points to his lips. Chuck just shakes his head in beleaguered amusement. It’s probably the metric ton of painkillers they have him on that’s got him so cheeky, but… He’s feeling a little too charitable, and done worse things in his life already. Well, Chuck can’t help but indulge him.

 

Just this once.

 

The logistics of it are a little strange, because he has to lean over the other side of the bed, opposite of Harley, whose head he puts a gentle hand on (and eyes he not so subtly covers) as he lays a gentle kiss to the side of Raleigh’s mouth. Maybe Chuck is also going slightly crazy from the end of the world, but hey, he figures, once you get through that, everything else is absolutely simple, right?

 

“How’s that?” He whispers, pulling back, eyes hooded.

 

“I dunno, still hurts…” Raleigh attempts to pout, but it still seems a little beyond him at the moment. Chuck raises an eyebrow, but he can’t stop the slight grin from appearing on his face.

 

“Don’t push your luck, Becket, we have to at least get you cleared from medical first.”

 

“And then lots of kisses for daddy.” Harley pipes up innocently, and that causes Raleigh to break into weak laughter that’s probably hell on his ribs at the moment.

 

“Yes, and then lots of kisses for _daddy_.” Chuck rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but smile.

 

Yeah, Chuck’s completely doomed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe it took me 8 chapters and 35K words to get them to just kiss, jesus christ. I promise actual _sex_ will happen in like one, maybe two chapters tops. ~~I'm sure there are those of you just reading this for the maybe vague promises of badly written smut and I apologize~~
> 
>  
> 
> Come harass me on tumblr [here](http://happyasaghost.tumblr.com/)!


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